It was autumn in Novus, which meant it was as good as winter in the thin-air places of the Arma Mountains, and Acton was in a foul mood.
The magician was a simple man. He liked a drink (or two), a game of cards (only rarely with an illicit ace up his metaphorical sleeve) and being onstage with a held-breath crowd before him. He liked back-alley brawls and poorly thought out bets and chance encounters with pretty women that lasted only as long as they needed to.
He did not like the nervousness that hung uneasy in his stomach now like too much sour wine. He did not like the memories that dogged him, of conversations he wished had never happened. And he did not like waiting, not even for Raum, not even to go home.
What was home, without the other Crows? Without Reichenbach the Night Court was just another city, no matter how prettily shone the strangers or the stars.
The mountain pass still bore the scars of the dragon’s strange fire. Smaller plants were struggling to make a comeback, but there was still so much char – black soil, black tree-trunks, black-smeared bones of unfortunate beasts. The wind was cold as it sighed down from the mountain, and Acton paced and muttered and left half-moon prints in the ashy earth.
Mostly what he wanted was someone to scream at, someone to punch, someone to use to sort out his messy rats-nest of feelings that he never knew what to do with. That, or to make something go boom, an explosion loud enough to shock his nerves into adrenaline and drown out his needle-teethed thoughts.
But Acton’s powders were far away, back in his quarters in Denocte (if they were still there at all), and not even the wildlife had returned to this part of the scorched mountains.
So he tried to make do. Laying his dark ears back, teeth meeting with a click, Acton focused his shaky grip on his magic and willed it into being. His head began to throb, but he could feel a presence behind him – and when he turned a moment later, match-bright eyes flashing, his gaze fell upon Reichebach.
Well. Not quite. It was only a weak approximation of the Night Court king – small and pale and flickering in and out of being like sparks or smoke. But it wore that devil-take-you grin, and gypsy coins glinted for a moment in the clear autumn sunlight –
“Fuck you,” Acton said, his heart pounding ragged in his ribs as if it were truly the King Crow and not some third-rate illusion, but already the bay figure was fading. Sunlight cut through his dark sides, then the whole image stuttered like a heartbeat. “Come back,” the buckskin urged, but the figure was gone.
He was alone, had been alone, would be alone.
“Fucking pathetic,” he snarled, and kicked up a cloud of ash and dirt at the place where the illusion had been – but he didn’t feel any better.
He felt as pathetic as the figure he’d conjured.
NOT YET CORPSES
STILL, WE ROT
@Thranduil if he wants and any! plz disregard the tantrum
It was a wasteland of charred earth and bitter thin air. The wind whipped through the pass, tugging and pull creatures forward. Rocks skitter down the sides and crows fly above. More worryingly, they’re joined by vultures. It was cold, dark, depressing, desolate, dirty, and dim. Surprisingly though, the gold liked it. Or at least, he did until he found himself on a narrow track above the pass’s floor, blocked from progress by a large rock.
The golden’s ears were back with frustration. Each step on his small ledge was a tricky business. It required careful footwork, light step, and balance. Only moments ago that had seemed a gift, and been his purpose for being here. Several long seasons on the road had leaned the muscles of the gold. Staying in one place, spying, thieving, scandalizing nobles, and possible nabbing a lovely lady or two would inevitably mean he’d have to change his ability to defend himself. The mountains had seemed like a good challenge, until now.
Looking out from around the rock he saw the slope down to the trail’s bottom, it wasn’t far only about 15 feet or not too steep, but it also it wouldn’t be easy. He’d most likely have to slid-
The shout echoed around and froze the gold for a moment. Ears whirled as he tried to find its source, but certainly wasn’t behind him, there was no one. Peering out from around the jutted rock as much as his small track would allow, the light catches the glimmer of an orange coat. No, near orange. And a bay. Wait, smoke? Earth eyes narrow as he glimpses, and his curiosity almost catches him by the tail as he steps forward, sending a few stones rolling a few feet. Harks lean back in concern, but then he’s too fascinated to keep them down for long.
With a calculated interest he watches the scene unfold, as the creature begs, and the other disappears. Shaking his head, the gold steps back. Strange… it must have been magic…A normal horse might shrug and leave them to whatever knot was their emotional state. The gold however, was not a normal horse. He wasn’t likely to leave unanswered questions and he sure as hell wasn’t going to just slip back away after seeing that display. He couldn’t find one explanation for it, whether one creature projected itself or the other conjured it, but the possibilities of such a little…trick were endless. If he could…borrow it? Possess it? Learn it? Nothing would be beyond- Besides…he told himself after a moment…what kind gentle soul would leave such a sad lonely creature alone in a place like this?
Normal horses would shout, or walk back down and then towards the buckskin, but as we’ve already settled, the gold is clearly not normal. “Temper, temper.” Called the lighter voice of the gold, rolling on sarcasm and humor. Mind whirled a plan and with a deep breath he stepped over the edge of his track. Rocks, ashes, and sand slide down as control of his descent is taken from him. Hinds sink back as he tries to find grip, and fore legs pick up and lower. It wasn’t the worst move he’s ever pulled, but as the rocks began to cut into his hind hocks, the gold believed rock sliding wasn’t going to make it as a sport in the Novus Olympics. Still he managed, and only stumbled once, as he neared the bottom. It began to level out and he stepped forward, hoof slipped on a still rolling stone, but he had control now, and his other legs caught him. It would look like a small bow as he steps up from his descent. Or so he hoped.
Only once he was firmly on the trail’s center, did a wolfish grin rise up and his tasseled tail sweep and curl in delight of mild success (his hocks he’d ignore in company, and deal with later, besides, worth it). Now, where were they? Ah yes. Making a new friend with a most interesting party trick (or who knew someone with one). “It’ll never come back with you acting like that.” He walks with head up and tasseled tail seeping low towards the new creature, who was still several yard away. The gold for his part shows no tension or strain, only a wicked grin, and earthen eyes dancing with gold.
It occurred to him the very reason he’d ventured to this canyon might soon be put to good use if this new acquaintance did not enjoy his tantrum interrupted. It occurred to him, but he ignored the warning signs. After all, that’s why he usually found himself in those situations to begin with, it’s just so fun getting there. The gold’s head tilts, eyes and grin muffling over to something more muted, just begging to hear the angry cusses, witty retaliation, or devilish defense might possibly spring forth. He may have come here for some exercise, but he was finding much more, much to his delight.
"talk talk talk"
OOC;; I wrote you a book, I'm sorry... XD Also I couldn't figure that last bit.. I tried lol
Four syllables was all it took for Acton to perform a different kind of magic.
Swift as a magician’s trick he shed the guise of the grief-stricken boy and became the Crow, the performer, the man who had never flinched at the idea of having blood on his hands. Lazy stance, lupine smile, eyes like embers.
Temper, temper, said the voice, and though he’d heard the words before (more than once, more than twice) he was relieved not to recognize the speaker. It would be mortifying to be caught in such a state by anyone he knew, but a stranger – well. Acton had spent much of his life coming out on the better end of encounters with strangers.
It only took him a moment to find the man, and one ear flicked back (even a little rockslide drew up big memories) as he watched him scramble down the slope in a half-controlled descent and a shower of dust and ash. Acton huffed a breath at the little mock-bow, as if he himself weren’t constantly on the lookout for a way to make an entrance.
As the stranger swaggered nearer Acton’s gaze meandered over him from hoof to horn-tip, recognizing nothing. A foreigner, maybe, come to see what spoils there were in a court abandoned to chaos – or possibly someone who was unaware of what was going on.
At the sound of his voice, Acton at last flicked his gaze up, over the curl of lips and to the golden eyes.
“Oh, that’s alright,” he answered languidly, all venom gone from his voice, but his eyes burned bright as autumn leaves. He did not take them from the golden stranger’s, and there was something very much of a crow in the way he watched him, all dark interest. “Something better usually comes around.”
Better for Acton, right now, was a distraction. And as he took in this stranger with his horned head high and his grin like the sharp side of a knife, the buckskin wondered if one had found him.
Temper, he thought again, and his gaze turned appraising. For a man like him those were as good as fighting words, and thought this fellow might be good for it – knew it the way any shrewd-eyed kid in a souped-up Subaru could tell from the expression of the driver who nosed up to the stoplight beside him that here was someone looking for trouble.
Acton loved trouble. It made him forget everything else, and reminded him exactly who he was: alive, alive, alive.
So now he angled his expression slant-wise on the golden stallion, then jerked his white muzzle up the slope, where gouge marks told of the stranger’s slide. His lips did not shape a smile, but there was the beginning of one in his flintlight eyes.
“That looked fun. Need a push the rest of the way down?”
Whoever had cried out before, in that anger, bitterness, strung together with agony and welded by the heart’s fire- they were gone. When earth eyes of the gold find the only creature present in the pass, he finds no echo of that voice. Curious, he watches. Just as the other freely wanders over the golden coat, he does the same. Buckskin patterned with splattered white guards, hair rough and flying loose, and built, well rather like the gold. Shoulder had an arrogant drop, and that grin…now where had the gold seen that before, oh yes, he was wearing it as well. What he had thought would be easy tumble weed of emotion turned out to be slightly more complicated. And, to his surprise, the gold wasn’t so sad about it.
The easy come voice mimics the carefree of his own, and those hairs on the back of his neck bristle up. Well, well, someone who knew how to play. Like a card player given a real challenge the gold deals the deck in a more delighted grin, and stops at the table, pulling up his chair. Maybe he was bluffing? He didn’t know the house rules, nor the reason some of the ash in what he assumed was a long ago tragedy was now feeling hot on his hocks. The gold also had no credit, no information on this creature or much still on the land. So maybe his was bluffing…but a thief’s bluff means nothing when he always packs an ace.
Tasseled tail switches from side to side like a cat enjoying a hunt. “True… but fair warning, I’m a lot harder to chase away.” A few cuss words wouldn’t do it. It’d be like throwing a rock in the ocean. He’d just hit you right back when the next storm blew in.
Careful earthen eyes spy the lingering looks, and don’t hide their own either. The clock was ticking if the other with turn him in, call out all the words coming from his gilded tongue. Of course the gold would take it in stride, not doubting his body and skills the way he had only moments ago in admitting some training was needed. Oh no, he’d saunter up to the line just as he would if he were a pro….but then, he didn’t want to. How could he want to dump the wit, the cards, the game all of it for a brutish all out slug fest. Not today, let him at least have his fun today.
The other player was first to speak. Head peaks back up as if the attention were recaptured, and the gold listens as if a they were but old timers, sitting on a porch, being offered sweet tea. Yes he’d love another glass, thank you kindly.
Crowned head turns back at the mention of his entrance, which, even the gold could admit (only to himself) might have been a bit….ambitious. Sight is also caught by his ashen dust covered hinds, no defiantly not again soon. He wasn’t a fool, one hark stays trained on the other, and his body never laxed into an easy. “Tempting.” He says in flippancy before pinning it up with a lower still careless tone as he turned his head back. “And I’m sure you’re good for it.” An acknowledgement, for that much was most certainly clear. “But I do believe I prefer the company up here, and our most entertaining conversation.” Besides, if the gold was getting kicked out of anywhere, he’d be kicking himself out.
That is really what it came down to. He didn’t need to be shoved, cut, kicked, or tackled to understand the other would be a solid match for him. Perhaps another day when his blood was hotter, or the buckskin earned it, but not today when he’d seen something so much more interesting. Something he’d not get by knocking the other’s brain’s out. “Or perhaps you can show me a trick.” He wasn’t being very subtle about it, and given the change of voice he’d heard, he wondered if he’d have to slug it out anyway. “Maybe, make something appear? Maybe a watermelon…or oh say…a horse?” The gold grinned as if he was just as innocently as possible posing the question. After all, two new friends and a watermelon, where was the harm in that?
“Show me your trick, and I’ll show you mine.” Tricks come in all shapes and sizes, even ones you never knew you had. Then again, even the gold could guess this wouldn’t in his wildest dreams go so smoothly. Who in their right mind would just show him the cards in their hand? Certainly no someone who could yell in wildest bitterness and turn on a dime into a lounging feline. But maybe a willing demonstration wasn’t what he was really after. There might be something, a denial, a flash in the eye, a tensing of the shoulder, (or at worst they’d have it out anyway) something to tell him what he had seen was what he suspected. Magic, a useful magic. When you are of use to him, there was rarely any getting rid of his curiosity, let alone his company.
Acton possessed the kind of bright arrogance that hated to see any other version of itself. Oh, Denocte drew his kind like rats to grain, all swagger and flash and a dare-me kind of grin, but ever the buckskin had been plenty secure in his place as a Crow, King Reichenbach’s very own magician.
For the first time he faced a funhouse-mirror copy of himself without the kind of confidence that came from having a place in the world, and Acton didn’t care much for it.
Of course, he hadn’t expected the stranger to say Yes, please, give me a good shove, but there was still a measure of disappointment when the golden man so airily side-stepped his offer of violence. Acton shaped a neat, tight grin in response. “How flattering,” he said, “a man who wants to get to know me.”
He blew out a breath, then, dropping just a little of his alpha-male stance. If they were in for a longer time together he may as well get comfortable. Acton wasn’t really in a talkative mood, and was about to say so – when the stranger’s next words caught his attention like a tossed rock.
The buckskin’s gaze angled on the other’s again, and if he was at all embarrassed about his little outburst he showed none of it. Instead he just laughed – a watermelon? - and at the offer he shook his head, feeling like he was bartering at the stall of a market-trader entirely new to the game. “Aw, buddy, but I just hate to be disappointed. If you had a thing worth seeing I’d know about you already.”
But Acton was a tease, and by the gods he loved an interested audience; he couldn’t help but let the natural mask he wore shift with his magic, just a little, just enough to bleed black across his cheeks where it hadn’t been there before.
And then it flickered back to normal, abracadabra, and the buckskin didn’t wink but he sure as hell raised an eyebrow. “Besides,” he added, the words rolling lazy and round as the sun in his mouth, “what kind of showman shares his secrets?”
And that, at least, was a fact that had been known to him since his colthood. No Crow, however new-grown into its feathers, would give up something on only a stranger’s promise of something in return.
Still he kept his distance, gaze lazy on the golden man, still coming around to the idea that there would be no scuffle in which to work all his black feelings out. At last he flicked an ear almost dismissively, and turned his amber eyes back over the bleak, black landscape.
“Anyway, if you’re hungry – for watermelon - you’re in a bad place for it. Unless you like yours charred.” There was a wry note to his voice that was nearly as dry-ash as the landscape.
WHY'D YOU BRING A SHOTGUN TO A PARTY
@Thranduil <3 I'm so sorry for the wait - and can't promise this was worth it, ugh. I'll get back into the swing of him by the next one
A ticking clock, counting down the seconds could not have been more attentive to the task. Earth eyes darkened as they settled to watch. Not that he leaned forward, or held a breath, he was too clever to give way that much, but it was impossible to hide that underneath it all, every movement and twitch of muscle was being watched as each second ticked away. He wasn’t disappointed.
The laughter does not fade him, a faceless mask in their game. It pulls his head to tilt- get on with it. He’d already know. Well, weren’t we a cocky arrogant ass. Brows raise in skepticism and head tilts back. What cards the buckskin held aside, that was a rare bold move. Foolish. Brash. Just because you’ve never seen a snake before, or heard of it in your lifetime doesn’t mean it’ll be forgiving when you step on it. The unknown dangers were the worst there were, and until you know them, you better be either cautious or prepared.
Of course, the gold had been bluffing, there wasn’t actually any venom in his fangs just yet (still could give a powerfully painful bite though). If he played his cards right though, it perhaps wouldn’t be that way for long. What venom he did have, mild and kept on the tip of his tongue began to build a retort, but he had paused in his assessment of that other’s choice, and was glad for it.
It would have been near impossible for the gold, watching ever so closely, to miss the wisp of black. To see the movement on the other’s face, and not draw his own conclusions. Tasseled tail sweeps low to the other side in the only external display that he’d noticed. There it was. It was the buckskin’s magic to control. He could form objects away and on himself, and he could call it quite easily (as no sign of struggle was here). More questions of this power took the place of the first, but the single fact that it was indeed the buckskin’s was satisfactory for now. Victory swarmed his thoughts and his pride, just as the other let it slip away again and proclaimed himself a showman.
Still, it baffled him for a moment. The raised brow…if he’d been deliberate…why. A suspicion lingered bitterly on his mood. That should have been the time the buckskin, if hiding was his true intent, should have been most on guard, and yet he’d given away, certainly not the whole trick, but the blueprints. With eyes still watching in humor and lips still holding a grin he shifts to the side, to stand stopped parallel, his head turning to keep on looking. The gold had expected a grand heist, some double agent or secret ploy, not free access to a peep hole. So the voice when it returned was more mellow, still wry, but not as hungry. “What kind indeed…” Came the answer. Short, and differed from the rest, for it showed a drop in the game. It seemed the other was happy to pick up the ball though.
Earth eyes follow the others out over the bleak landscape, yet they recollect the humor and mischief. He had, for the moment, what he was after, and now the fun was to begin again. “Grilled watermelon is apparently a new and novel delicacy.” Came the whipping response, more pitched and quick. “But I do believe I’m more traditional in taste.” Grilled coconut was more his preferred taste. He looks back to the other, and with his primary goal done, appetite satisfied (whether with falsities or truths he didn’t seem to care), he let the grin rise higher.
It occurred to him that while he did not seek to press much further, a snaking question remained of just who stood there in front of him. And a suspicion followed, that it was someone he’d never quite be able to define for an answer. Not an altogether unhappy deduction. Back to the matter at hand of course. Charred. Burned. Given the heat still lingering on his hocks and hooves from the stirred ash, he could guess the fire hadn’t long passed, but….could a fire burn all this. Burn the rocks of the earth as well as the life above? Whatever danger there was, the thought it might still be present was a new one to him. “It appears someone had a nastier temper than even you.” It wasn’t all lost, the dry pale grass still rose in a few clumps about the more leveled places. Perhaps he could convince this showman to help him conjure some spruce trees. After all nothing spruces up a place more than spruce trees, unless of course daises were possible.
Acton thrived on unknown dangers. Where was the fun in preparation? Better to throw yourself in whole-hearted and reckless – like sliding down a slope when you weren’t entirely sure of the footing.
Anyway, he knew the kinds of things that walked the Night Court and the Arma Mountains, and the worst of them was gone. (Well, except perhaps Caligo, but he wasn’t sure he was interested in sifting the rumors of her sightings from the truth). And the buckskin stallion knew, too, that in his best moments (or the opposite, maybe), he was among the worst of what was left.
Though he wondered just how much that was.
The buckskin kept an ear turned toward the golden man, and grunted in response to his watermelon comment. Acton was a fairly simple man, even given the varied wonders the Night Markets offered, and culinary pursuits had never been his interest. Not even when it wasn’t just food that was being discussed, as now.
But that grin still caught his eye, and he turned to meet that laughing gaze, away from the charred remnants of what had been a vibrant strip of forest. Strange, to not hear birdsong, nor even the hum of the wind through leaves. Strange and sad – and Acton was ready to move on from it.
For now he’d had his fill of swearing at ghosts. It was time to go home.
“They had a better way to act theirs out, anyway,” he answered the stranger, and this time his grin was a far more genuine thing. If you couldn’t laugh at the fucked-up turns the world took, then what was the point in any of it?
For a moment he considered the golden man once more, and at last he cocked his head, gesturing with his muzzle toward the trail that wound down through ash and blackened trunks – and eventually on to the city of starlight. Maybe it was the city of something else, now, like nightmares or rubble – it was time to find out, either way. “I’ll tell you about it, if you’re headed that way. We’ll have the time.”
Acton only waited a moment before moving forward, continuing the journey to gods knew what. Only after a few steps did he look back over his shoulder with a final smile.
“Name's Acton, by the by.”
@Thranduil eyyy figured I'd wrap it since so much has happened. thread again soon in Denocte??
