[AW] the ocean holding everything, tossing aside the weary

[Sikeax]

sikeax

" i hate to think about you with somebody else
but our love has gone cold
you're intertwining your soul with somebody else "

“I’m sorry.” The ocean sighs in return, sea foam creeping up the gradual slope of the sand and creating twin rings around her front hooves; only a kiss though, for the ocean drags them back out as fast as it brought them in. “I should’ve gone to you when I had the chance.” There’s not a response this time, even when she finds herself desperately searching out a voice in the back of her head that’s been long gone now.
No more snarky remarks, no more ‘love You’s,’ no one to keep her company when the world is dark and she knows she’d rather be lonely in the sea, deep somewhere no one is gonna touch her but the increasingly cool water and Hobgoblin’s sleek skin.
A long sigh makes her chest heave, lungs rattling the inside of their cage with their unease, already shaking out of fear.
I didn’t mean to lose you.
Nothing but silence and the sounds of the ocean to fill her ears up when Hobgoblin doesn’t snap back, and while she won’t bring herself to admit, her eyes have slipped slightly to the back to try and find him at her shoulder. Empty, another place that she's never gonna find a way to fill up again.  There is never going to be another soul that could take up that place correctly, that could ridicule her with the knowledge that it’s all meant in love and really, truly caring.
It’s not her chest that only shakes this time. It runs out across her entire body and holes up in the tears in her eyes, watching with her as the lift of her skull is gentle, the look in those downtrodden blues desperate but painfully hopeful as they search out a sliver of silver and dark grey, ears pricked forward with hopes of hearing a song, one that without this place has become so shockingly surreal.
In reality, it’s the most surreal thing she’s ever experienced. The culture looks at her as barbaric, ancient and backwards, her heart is clinging to dragons and children she’ll never see, creating a new crack for every time the thought of them crosses her mind.
“I loved you with every bit of my heart.” Water climbs. No one is there to tell Sikeax that if they’re gone, if Hobgoblin is gone, then maybe this world has been cruel enough to tear up her lungs and turn them what could be claimed as normal again, that the sea isn’t her’s to go to and nothing here will ever let her love them as such as she did the ones she lost.
She’s chest-deep and pushing when the wave strikes her chest, upstaging her footing so that she’ll fall, eaten up while the life in her lungs slowly flees. There’s never been something she’s been more ready for, so please come to imagine the horror and gut-wrenching heartbreak that comes in when she finds out that the air she’d once breathed so easily is clawing the walls of her throat with relentless torture, and under the surface there really isn’t Hobgoblin.
It’s only empty, some sea grass further out from her little spot under the sea. It holds her weightless, expression fixated to a slack jaw, sunken eyes and a looseness that simply consumes every muscle into her face till she is the definition of a long face, and I think this is here where the world finally breaks her. It sees the end of what had always been Sikeax, once accurately dubbed the Sea Soul, wholly broken.
Later on, it might be good to say that if you want to become something better and something new, you’ve got to reach the worst you’ve ever been. Sikeax is there right now, dying before her eventual resurrection towards hope despite the will to live sinking in her chest and drowning with her.
I wanted to die with you.
Reality is a freight train that runs her down with bright lights and a blaring horn, waking her up when the world is becoming steadily gentler and easier to accept. Drowning is supposed to be described as a growing feeling of weightlessness when the real seriousness of it starts to take affect, that going is quiet and soft like evening breezes and fading light, but for her, it was that from the start. Fantasy but welcome, loved and cherished because Sia had loved the sea and believed that it loved her as much as she did it that she came to believe it could never strike to her down.
Reality is, in this case, a blow to the chest, a sharp scrape of nails on her lungs that comes in at the same time of a perfectly timed punch. It’s memory and that far too human will to survive. It’s the fact that Hobgoblin would’ve wanted her to live, to try and find something to carry on for even if the world was coming down again, for if she’d been surrounded by strangers with a bloodlust for her own both alone and with him, then there is nothing telling her that she can’t persevere again.
Both of the hooves on her right happen to be the ones that find the bottom first, and instinct is there on the spot, spewing demands that she push. I don’t think she even remembers coming back up to the surface, full-frontal wailing trying to make an appearance while her entire body heaves to spew water back out. Her stumble back to the beach is clumsy, blurred by a near-death experience that brings a lesson hard earned.
There’s no one left to love you but yourself.
Damp sand ends up being colder than she remembered, or maybe it’s the fact that she’d already been shivering; whether or not it’s from the impact of the current events or from the trauma of a violent awakening, there’s no clear way of deciding, but nonetheless the sensation of something solid is enough to bring her together.
Feeble-hearted, completely broken, Sikeax can only shake in the aftermath, the chill of the wind working fast to sink the cold deeper.

OOC: tbh not exactly looking to carry this out but if you'd like to reply go ahead!!! it's more of a chance for me to see how sia is gonna be around here and get her lil butt started


"speak"

image

[Salem]

S A L E M aut viam inveniam aut faciam There's a thousand recorded events of a soul shattering in history, and how it's splintered remains hang by delicate strands in the tumultous aftermath. Countless tomes in lofty libaries beloved by those who carefully tend to their pages and then those in dank cellars, tended to those with wicked eyes and cold hearts. Each detail valiant heroes and wandering vagabonds at the breaking point, the edge of the cliff into the fathomless abyss, the blade bathed in a loved one's blood at dusk or simply it's the ghosting of the wind against their skin. A silence too deep to ponder, a ripple in a vast pond that shatters the perfection like glass. As he watched the pale mare be swallowed by the sea, Salem cannot help but wonder which it is for this one. Stood against the pearly white sand and golden grasses, he is a wraith. A blackened smudge upon a pristine landscape. He has no business stepping foot in a place as vibrant and light as this, not even with the bottomless ocean lapping at the sandy shores. Yet he's hear, inhaling lungfuls of sea air and slitted pupils drinking in the collapse which unfolded on the beach below. To think, he had come here to be contrite, to stand and simply be as he mulled over his own inner questions and hummed to the wind to fill the void of silence. A good horse would turn away, and give the broken mare her peace. Let her lay in her own ruin and let the earthquake in her bones rattle her until there was nothing left to uproot. Unfortunately, Salem isn't that horse. Slowly, he moved, one cloven hoof after the other to carry him onto to the sandy planes where she lay. Something akin to curiousity found itself reflected in his eyes, before it was swallowed once more with his usual nonchalant stare. It's not in his nature to care, not truly. There have been times where he has, where it had been the norm, but that was so very, very long ago. When his soul was a pure thing, unchained and unaltered. He's interested because broken things have history, there are layers to the pain ink and paper cannot fully articulate. No careful artists hand could depict the bottomless gaze of one who has seen everything crumble. How do you get the devil to care? By showing him something he cannot resist. So he drew close, stood by the shaking and rattled frame covered in salt water and sand. Slowly his head lowered, nudging at a champagne shoulder with faux care in an attempt to get her to move. "Come now." He called, deep and melodic, like a song sang in the deep places and the most holy. "You will catch your death if you stay in the sand." @Sikeax have I told you how much I love her because I love her a lot. "this here is your speech colour!

[Sikeax]

sikeax

" i hate to think about you with somebody else
but our love has gone cold
you're intertwining your soul with somebody else "

Where is the humanity? Where is Sikeax, you know, the real one with cautious eyes and messy thoughts, Hobgoblin glued to her side only to add a sense of unease even when her mere presence can be defined as comforting. I’m only saying this right now because she’s nearly gone, lurching her neck out as saltwater spews out of her lungs and throat into the dampening sand encircling her. There is no sensation of comfort and love in her company, no soft voice with calm words and worried glances, the small ticks that almost go by unnoticed that makes people wonder what someone like her has got to be scared of. You could almost think ‘How could anyone be cruel to that?’ for a few seconds.
A mute scream clogs her throat up and only manages to come out in the form of spitting water, drowning in coughs and teary eyes that burn with a passion fueled by fear and salt. The shaking rattling her entire body turns into terror and fear instead of trauma and heartbreak, eyes barely opened as the muscles surrounding them struggle to pry their lids apart, whites laced with red as they flare with panic.
Where’s to run, Sea Soul? There’s no safety here in anymore, so let’s just suffer.
The sand is even colder on her shoulder blade, having wasted no time in thrusting her body weight into the opposite direction to avoid a touch that was more than unwelcome, gaze coming back around with that same look of fear, struggling to figure out how to make thick, judgemental brows.  
“Wh- Whuh-” Words crack in her mouth under the strain. A lower jaw is shivering like a babe in the winter’s cold, trying to get a grip on itself when her brain obviously cannot do that. Something else has to be on her mind, with the way that her head whips away from her failure  to have her eyes squint even harder into the distance, looking out across empty beach that’s opposite the direction of her companionship, like she's expecting someone to come her rescue or to be at their side. No one is there as the drool slides down the curve of her lower lip, finishing itself up with a cough that rattles her rib cage a lot harder than she would've thought and burns her throat. The squinting gives a bit harder, still thoroughly caught up in thought.  
Sounds take up space against her eardrums, groggy and waterlogged as one comes round to try and figure out what they’re saying. One word manages to make its way to her brain, but a thousand explanations come in return and none of them seem to fit the picture.
Death.
So, with the best of her shaken ability, she returns to him with brows knotted up and confusion ridiculing her features, jaw slackened and face slightly more tense. The amount of thought she’s trying to work through right now is more than evident, but regardless, the delusion of a near-death experience only succeeds in making her look stupid.
“I- I…”  Sight shifts downward as the words continue to struggle, trying to find space to right themselves when there is never going to be enough. “Reeeed-d-y. Fate gives her a better hand this time around, dragging out the word far and long with a shivering jaw, slamming her tongue into the right space after too long of an embarrassing defeat at trying to place the ‘ee’ sound at the end.
Ready. I’m ready for you to take me away. I’m ready to die and be with them, and I hope they’re ready to be with me again.
The thought of death brings a brief portion of happiness that flutters in her chest like a songbird’s joyous wings in springtime. She flirts with a thin smile, the intensity in her brow muscles going lax as a lazy bat of eyelashes barely brings tears out. They bubble up in their ducts and never make it further, even though her cheeks are stained with sea water.
And her touch goes for his, so obviously left without knowledge of her legs now under the belief that her soul has been pardoned of its sins, finally free to experience happiness with those that really matter.
The dead.
Her eyes drink up every single one of his details as her muzzle tries to find something of his, a shoulder, a cheekbone, possibly a leg. The Grim Reaper has a horn forged from what looks like hellfire and the eyes to match, a delirious brain pausing to think if they possibly forged him with the fire inside and have sealed him shut up with ashes and brimstone. A glimmer of gold adorns portions of his face that she never imagined existed, bringing out faint hints of thought and confusion as her mouth pulls forward slightly, just barely, like the question is there, irony laughing at the fact that it’ll never make it out or have much purpose. Either way, the expression slips off her features within milliseconds, gone like it was never there while she awaits her eventual passage.

OOC: I'm sorry???? ? Sia is so fucking delusional in this thread that even I'm confused


"speak"

image

@Salem