behold a pale horse in my gaze high upon it, death in a rage
Answers.
It’s answers that her people want, or some form of consolation – someone to tell them oh no it will all be fine or nothing is wrong. Seraphina is many things, but she is no liar, and she makes no effort to disguise her uncertainty – or a stark, journalistic account of the events that occurred at the Summit – when she addresses them, even as she sees their expressions darken; their chatter grows morose, the hum of voices dulling to a whisper, and they do not meet her eyes. She wonders, somewhat bitterly, if they think her scorned, just as they did after the Davke attack – but she thinks that it is more likely the dark, winding path the meeting laid out in front of them. All of her - their - plans, however carefully-laid, felt stumbling in the face of the unknown.
When she and her Regime are finished, she is as desperate for solitude as a dying man in the desert for water. It is easy enough for her to disappear into a sea of bodies, as notorious as she has become to the residents of Novus, and it is not long before she has broken from the crowd and made her way to the fringes of the area that Tempus cleared, towards the comfort of the forest that extended beyond it. (Though, she thinks that she is far more comfortable with the open sky, even when it is painted in all the colors of Calligo’s night.) In disquieting times, painted with holy wrath, distance is the last thing that it feels like many of Novus’s residents desire – they cling to their friends and families like lifeboats, and that is how they hang on. Few of them have made their way to the forest, and it seems her best bet at disappearing for a while, left alone to make sense of the tumult of her thoughts.
But Solterra is full of assassins and two-faced snakes, and monsters beyond imagination lurk in the shadow of the sands; she knows the sensation of being hunted, and she does not miss the glint of silver, struck metallic in the moonlight, even as it weaves and creeps between the trees. She knows that silver like a bad dream - it leaves the taste of blood and collapse to burn bitter on her tongue, smells like copper-tang and sand, and it laughs, laughs like banshee girls and lying, smiling boys. It is not a silver she has ever confronted, either. Acton is napalm, and hunting him in the frothing crowd of Delumine’s festival was easy, but he was no spy among her sands. Raum was, and his offense is more personal, if tempered by the presence of Rhoswen.
Her steps slow to a halt as she strides between great, gnarled tree after great, gnarled tree, stopping amidst a small grove of ancient Oak and Ash. She trains her eyes on the leaf-strewn forest floor in front of her, expressionless.
She licks her still-trembling lips. They taste like ash and loss. “Come out,” She says, and her voice is deathly quiet, “Crow.”
This life is nothing but replay. Bexley stalks the desert. Replay, replay, replay.
The replay of Seraphina’s mismatched eyes in the summit-dark. The replay of a summer night filled with the omniscient buzz of lightning bugs. The emptiness of her stolen magic, replayed till it burns a hole in her stomach. The sun overhead, replayed a thousand days in a row.
When does it stop.
Her own brain is a replay of missed opportunities and the wet gleam of fire and Acton’s dark knee cracking under her weight. Motherfucker. She stalks the back-alleys of Solterra like a wild thing, teeth bared, hackles raised. Her beauty feral, even unhinged. She is ragged and keening with want. It is another familiar feeling, replayed, replayed, replayed until it hurts. Wanting for what it’s hard to say. If she doesn’t want the whole world, she wants most of it, and that’s a confession in and of itself, and the length of a full confession is longer than the world is wide, and who has the fucking time to listen to something like that.
She is tired of pulling of teeth. Of working hard for the barest hints of recognition. She is tired of her own loud mouth, her own rapid heartbeat, her own need to be right and even righteous, and today is the day she thinks she might really give it all up, throw herself into the deepest part of the Vitae, until her eyes silver and her breath stops and the water swallows her forever, silence her once and for-fucking-all.
Until he shows up.
Because he has to ruin every god-damn plan of hers, right down to the sickest and most satisfying. (What else can Bexley ask of him?) He has to ruin everything - her heart, her body, her schemes and her wants. Maybe he is Solis’ punishment.
It wouldn’t be a surprise. Sweet irony.
And he’s on replay when they find each other, sweet irony again. His mouth on her hip, or her tugging his dark hair. (Replay replay replay. Her brain is liquid warmth, she sways on her feet.) Bexley is on her way out of the inner Court when she literally bumps into him, smashing shoulder-first into his chest with her eyes turned glowering to the cobblestone. Of course her intuition says to spit something venomous and fiery, but her preparatory inhale brings with it the scent of something foul and familiar, and Bexley bites back her rancor only long enough to look up and confirm it’s really him.
Aw. Hey, babe.
She grins, catty and too casual. The space between them is negligible at best. Her shoulder is still pressed up against his; her hair brushes his chest; when she glances up at him it burns through whatever tiny distance is left between them, until they very well could be the same person, an amalgamation of temper and magic (maybe) and righteous fury. If I knew you were showing up today I would’ve worn something nicer.
Bexley’s smirk widens. She shakes a stray curl from her face, tilts her head at him coquettishly. Everything that was on replay is on pause now, overwritten entirely by the sight of Acton - the many freckles, the dark, ambrosial eyes. Bless you, she wants to say. For ruining everything.
Of course, she doesn’t.
this way you still owe me, and that's as good as anything.
I FEEL DIVINITY IN MY BONES LIKE ACHING; LIKE FIRE.
Gold. Dripping from the sun like ichor spilled from the hearts of the gods themselves. Smeared across the sky and blending with shades of pinks, oranges and red. The sky's colors bled onto the landscape, brushing it with delicate hues that made the water look as though it were aflame. Hues that accompanied the dark mare well, highlighting her fiery mane and dancing along her golden feathers. With delicate steps Aletheia made her way down to the water, her left wing occasionally leaving her side to catch her balance when a hoof was placed wrong.
Bright, warm light stung Aletheia's eyes as she cast her gaze towards the golden orb that hung low in the sky, trying to take in its beauty. With how enchanting Aletheia found sunsets to be, it somewhat surprised her that she did not take comfort within the borders of the Dusk Court instead. The Day Court is one of passion and intensity, of power and vitality. Such virtues wove the Day Court together, instantly giving Aletheia a sense of kinship when first welcomed into its realm. To be surrounded by others who strive for such vibrant, intense lives? To live so unapologetically in the darkest of times? It truly kindled a sense of belonging in the dark pegasus's chest when she was first welcomed. Ah, but perhaps even the sunsets in the Duck Court would be rivaled by the one that formed before her.
It was with delicate steps that Aletheia moved onto the small amount of dirt and sand that surrounded the water, her hooves sinking slightly among the small grains. A small sigh slipped from her lips as a smile graced her features, making her eyes wrinkle slightly in that oh so charming way that Aletheia herself seems to be unaware she possesses. With ears pushed forward, the sun crept lower as its brilliant orange shifted to a deep red as parts began to slip beneath the horizon.
Long ago, if she were to see such a breath-taking sight, Aletheia might have thought to thank the gods or even just a god. Now? All there was as far as who to "thank" for such a sight was herself. She was the one who made the trek to such an exclusive place. She was the one whose colors were being mimicked in such a beautiful way by the sky itself. Truly, if there was a divine force involved it was none other than her.
With a small shiver racing down her spine, Aletheia stepped slightly further, her hooves hitting the water and the small waves hitting her skin. The water was warm, but cold in comparison to the heat that hung in the air. It was pleasant, a sensation that would surely call Aletheia back to this spot time and time again long after this first visit. With a rather unhappy glance back at her right wing, Aletheia reached back with a small huff leaving her nose, biting into the bandages that wrapped around her. With a small tug, the knot holding them in place came unraveled, the pale bandages now hanging limply in the dark mare's maw. With a small toss the bandages were put upon the shore, only a small corner being left in the water. While that may be something to find concerning, it would be a problem for Aletheia at a later time. An Aetheia who had already soaked her injured wing and had enjoyed the cool waters that played at her hooves.
The smile returned, slightly smaller but ever present, as Aletheia continued deeper into the waters, her tale catching upon the gentle movements of the water and trailing behind her as if it were a fiery veil.
If this moment were to be viewed from an outsiders perspective, it might look as though she were pulled from mythology itself. A woman of fire and gold, leaving behind mortal ties to find her place among the stars and the sun than hung in the sky, forever remembered as the wife of whatever solar gods might have been favored. If Aletheia were to write such a tale, one that told her own story, it would be one of a ambitious woman, one of fire and light, one that was unafraid to rip the sun from the sky with her strength and take her place among the sky like the rightful god she was. A very different tale, but both are of a woman and fire and an ascension to a status both unshakable and divine.
I GOT A TENDENCY TO SELF-DESTRUCT,
& A SOFT SPOT FOR THE FILTH.
Above him, the sun is an unwavering presence.
It beats upon him with crippling heat that leaves streaks of sweat upon his dark hide, his tangled mane a heavy weight against his neck, and yet the man doesn’t move from where he stands. His sides move every so often, the imperceptible inhale and exhale of a life still lived, the skin tightening against the ribs that were glaringly obvious; he looks as though he might fall over at the next gust of wind, and yet, like he has not moved for centuries with the dust that collects and dulls his coat to a matte finish.
From his vantage point, he can see much of the desert unfolding before him -- the Court that rose up suddenly from the never-ending dunes, cloaked in a heat-haze in the distance; the Oasis, a promising daydream to the weary traveler; and of course, the treacherous slopes that led up into the canyon walls where he made his home.
A single thought runs through his head.
I wonder if I could drown the sun.
@Seraphina but also open for anyone who wants to come meet mattie!
YOU'VE LONG SEEN YOUR DOWNFALL SPELLED OUT IN ANOTHER'S BONES
__________________________________
The sun crawls slowly here, Mantis notices.
No matter where you go, it always seems to burn bright above you, sweltering flares making your head throb and skin warm. So when it finally turns dark and the sun dips the dunes at the horizon in a beautiful orange, Mantis is relieved. Her muscles are stiff from the day she spent traveling and she's glad to catch her breath for a while, staring at the sunset. She stretches her neck. A bone pops and blood rushes to her poll. It thankfully doesn't start pounding.
She hadn't anticipated this long of a journey. When she left Aed, she was hoping for shelter at Maxir maybe, but working as Envoy had made her realize how easy the people of Aed were to manipulate. Other folks listened between the lines more, watched more closely, caught onto things quicker. It had made her a little uncomfortable, back then, not being able to sit straight and stare, but she's adaptable and makes herself fit in. Sometimes it makes her question if it was her own personality, the mind in her that controlled her doings.
She shakes her head. No time for such thoughts.
She turns to look at the building in front of her. It's built out of yellow stone, worn with age and wind, and Mantis is a little surprised it's still standing with how the walls are cracked in some places. Back home, if a palace started cracking, they'd just tear it down and build a new one. Mantis decides she shouldn't think about Aed that much. This place was different. Maybe a bad kind of different, but at least something new. She'd give it a try.
With evening falling upon the desert, she notices shadows starting to creep out of their holes, their bowed low silhouettes scurrying around the horizon. Mantis despises the scoundrels and thieves that come out at night. She should probably find shelter. She just doesn't know who this building belongs to and isn't to keen on finding out, either.
So she stands. Waits for opportunities to come. It usually never takes too long.
YOU'VE LONG SEEN YOUR DOWNFALL SPELLED OUT IN ANOTHER'S BONES
__________________________________
The breeze carries dust to get caught in her lashes, making her vision blur as she tries to focus on what's in front of her. Her tongue lays thick and heavy in her mouth and her throat feels like sandpaper and she isn't sure anymore if the sound in her ears is the wind circling through her legs or the blood rushing to her head.
After leaving Aed, she thought it'd be easy for her to find shelter again, but Mantis was born with a silver spoon in her mouth and money in her pocket and while she surely was used to climbing her way to the top, she wasn't used to digging at the bottom. Her hooves dig deeper into the sand underneath them. She did not know a single face she had encountered in the past few days and knew the desert that laid in front of her eyes even less. Was this supposed to be her new home? Rugged land and dry hills of nothing but dirt? Mantis was used to grand palaces, courtrooms and golden thrones. Before regret made itself home in her hallow bones, she swallows the feeling down and clenches her jaw.
Tough luck.
She catches a glimpse of grey behind one of the many dunes that looks exactly like the thousands she saw before this one. She has not seen anything other than the striking blue of the sky and the biting yellow of the desert in what feels like ages, so her vision focuses on the flash of color, heading towards it even when her legs protest.
The change in scenery is sudden. Hills of wilderness turn into lush green of trees and deep blue of water. An Oasis stands before her eyes, water making its way between plateaus of stones, plant life growing in it's cracks - Mantis huffs, maybe out of annoyance that she hadn't turned her head this way sooner, but definitely out of relief. The blood in her veins thrums as she nears the water, her breath creating ripples on it's surface.
She relishes in the way the dread that clawed at her heart loosened it's grip. It was only temporary, so much she knew, but it reminded her that there was more to come. She would not suffer.
She'd make sure.
@Raymond - ohhh boy my first post in like a year im sorry LOL
A soft old song plays over the streets: jazz and rosewater and dark, dark chocolate. Mari’s tired enough and tipsy enough she can taste the notes in the back of her mouth. The night envelopes her Stygian figure with relative ease. A soft old song plays over the streets and sets her hair to standing and follows her as closely as the scent of sandalwood follows in her path - lingering on her skin, in the rough tangle of her hair, the slight frown on her dark lips.
The stars are dim tonight, the streets gloomier than usual. It is absurdly easy to walk Terrastella unnoticed. No one bows their heads, no one meets her eyes, no one stops in her path to introduce themselves. It feels kind of like a blessing. The world is quiet and still and easy to swallow, easier than it has been in a long time.
At least until she steps into the tavern.
Noise and heat explode around her. Bodies swarm the room, music floats through the air; the smell of fruit wine singes her nostrils; Marisol ices up, blinks those gray eyes wide in surprise, startled and disturbed by the volume of the crowd around her, frozen in place like a deer caught in lamplights. Her heartrate quickens in her chest. It’s so much more than she remembered - Gods know how long it’s been since she came to a place like this of her own accord - and part of her prickles like she’s been caught in a criminal act red-handed, but she forces herself not to back out from having fun for once.
With a stilted stride, she moves forward, deeper into the bar.
Somehow, she knew, it should not have surprised her to see her family home reduced to nothing but a hollow shell -- it’s walls falling in and unkempt from the years that she had spent away from it. Someone had taken the time to clear the bodies of her mother and father from the wreckage as well. Where were they buried? Had they even been buried? A pang of regret crept across her features, before she wiped it away and replaced it with a much less fragile thing. Her mouth tasted of the ash that stirred in the chilling wind of night, a bitter and difficult thing to swallow. Her eyes were clouded as she tightened her jaw, her steps as heavy as her heart as she finally forced herself to leave it behind. Anything of value must have been long gone, and there was no point in wading through the damage in hopes of finding something that had been missed. The truly important things were gone.
She adjusted the cowl at her neck, the ivory fabric embroidered with the stunning golden suns and elegant swirls catching the sliver of moonlight left hanging in Caligo’s sky. Her return form the summit had been mostly uneventful, other than the meeting she’d had with her Queen. She’d learned nothing from or about the gods that she hadn’t already known. Solis was rumored to be walking the earth, his statue missing from its place upon the peak -- his altar void. The air had seemed colder in the place of worship without the idols, as if the breath of life and magic had been stripped away.
Her mind and gaze turned to the streets ahead of her, quite devoid of life at this time of night. She hesitated in one of the alleys as she considered her options for the evening, in need of a tavern or the like to stay in until she could find more permanent lodgings. A pair of equines passed by her, decorated like soldiers, their laughter loud and carless. They did not notice the sage in the slightest, distracted by their conversation and inebriated with some kind of strong drink that lingered long after they were gone. Her ears twitched and fell back against a bed of silken tresses, as she adjusted the small satchel of belongings that carried her entire life. It was nearly as threadbare as it had been when she’d arrived in Delumine.
It contained all the possessions she had in the world. A couple of delicate items, including her butterfly hair pin that she had wrapped to keep safe on the journey. She’d taken one of the Dawn Court’s precious tomes as well, mostly about Solterra and its culture. She had been raised here, but this particular book contained information regarding more recent events -- a series of letters documenting the disappearance of the the first Solterran king post-Zolin and Queen Seraphina’s rise. It even had a bloodstained letter warning of the Davke. It was a precious resource, perhaps one that she should not have taken from the library...but with so many books, who would miss this one? The satchel also carried all of the coin to her name, a few personal effects and the last of her food supplies. She’d reached Solterra in just enough time.
She reached for the worn leather, brushing it gently with her teke to assure herself it was still there. It rested against her shoulder, just barely peeking out from beneath the ivory fabric of her attire.She had not the slightest clue where anything was in this city anymore, so much changed since the rebellion. It seemed a great portion of the city had fallen into disrepair -- though there seemed to be some efforts at revitalization. Lei would want to speak to Seraphina about that, once she had more time to seek an audience. Many were still holding their breath to see the final outcomes of the summit.
She pushed the braid of her hair away from her shoulder as she stepped out into a wider street than before, heading in the direction that the pair of equines had come from. Drinks and merriment meant that a tavern should be nearby, which would hopefully equal some shelter for the night. She passed by market stalls, many closed for the evening like the flowers who shut their petals at night’s fall. Her footfalls were as heavy as her heart, her mind still distracted by the ashes of her home.
It had been months since she had strayed away from the heat of Solterra, trading desert dryness for the muggy air of the swamps in Tinea. Even in the autumn, it was hot, with heat rising from the boggy ground underhoof. Even the breezes of crisp autumn air did little to stifle the heat, and she found she was more suited for it. Jaxis had become an initiate in the Ilati, under the sightless gaze of one crazy old man named Turhan.
She would learn their ways, their poisons and their drugs, and use them on her own later. For now, she was more interested in learning about them and their ways entirely, to become one of them. So she had begun her life as one of them, wearing the shattered piece of skull she had found in the nest on her trial, a thin piece of bone leading up to her mane and weaving in to it with vertebrae bones that could not be seen, giving her the effect of the mask simply sitting in place on her face.
Sharp teeth rested on either side of her muzzle, long and aged, and her head bobbed as she paused her harvesting of specific flowers (she'd learned how since last time), and her head lifted.
On her back, Enyo shifted, large feet pressing claws in to her skin, though not breaking it. The creature was still young, though had grown since they had met in the short amount of time. She was already a few feet tall but still too small to keep up with Jaxis, so she had chosen to carry Enyo on her back. The dinosaur growled, jaw working open and shut as she rested clawed hands on her 'mother's' neck, gaining more leverage so she could turn.
"Turhan." The greeting was given, and Enyo clicked her jaw a little before settling back on her spine once more, growling only softly to herself. She had grown used to the elder horse, at least to some degree. She still snapped at him, as if he'd make a good lunch, whenever he got too close to her comfort bubble.
I'll be a stone, I'll be the hunter,
The tower that casts a shade
***
It was more difficult than Raymond liked to convince Ruth of the wisdom of staying hidden in the Arma Mountains. There was still so much of the headstrong and incorrigible kitten thriving inside the great beast that, now that no tether could possibly hold her and no threat could possibly coerce her obedience, even reason seemed a feeble weapon against her desires. The moment he'd expressed a desire to follow through on an old promise and pay a visit to the desert kingdom of Solterra, the furious debates had begun in earnest.
Logic did eventually win out - but not his logic, which should have made him proud but primarily gave him a headache.
I can carry you.
Ruth.
You're slow.
Ruth, no.
And so the conversation went back and forth with all the progress of a tennis match, until the red stallion caved more for the sake of his own sanity and offered a compromise. That was how he ended up lying cradled inside a cage of massive talons, his instinctive reservations about heights slowly giving way to intrigue as he watched the miles slip by under the Tarrasque's impressive stride.
She could indeed carry him - as easily as he could carry a feather - and the journey through the mountain ranges of Arma and Veneror took hours when it ought to have taken days. Only when the golden expanse of desert stretched out northward on the horizon and the mountains gave way to sandy foothills and the distant scar of Elatus Canyon did Ruth set him down again with a low, grating huff. He didn't have the heart to complain how the ride had left him sore in places he didn't even know existed, but she could probably tell anyway.
Thank you, my dear. That had been the compromise: that she would not enter Solterra but at the most desperate end of need. With the tip of her siege-breaking tail switching irritably in a most feline fashion she retreated, a wash of unhappily clashing color pouring through the link, and Raymond turned to face the desert alone.
Much had happened since Teiran had offered Raymond a tour of the desert kingdom, and he wondered if she would even remember as much should he saunter in from the wilderness. But the red stallion was not one to go back on his word, in this world or any other. He'd said he would come, and he'd come. Whatever happened next, he'd find his way through one way or another.
That's what he'd always done.
With a bit more stiffness in his step than usual, Raymond worked his way north toward the canyon's edge, eyes trained for the silhouettes of dangerous desert beasts on the horizon.
***
Raymond
And at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
When the man comes around.
