“Hey-ho, Away we go, into the darkness into the black, with nothing but the wind at our back,” Iliad’s voice echoes off the empty nothing of the vast expanse of the sky. “Oh fuck what is the next verse. Oooh-aah.. Fuck.. Can’t remember it.” He says and stares down at the ground beneath him. He ponders for a moment, debating if he wishes to onward skyward but he can feel the ache starting in his wings. His eyes shut and he takes a moment to feel the wind caress his skin, toss the tendrils of his hair about across his neck before he starts violent descent. Iliad tucks his wings in close and makes a near nose dive towards the ground before masterfully catching himself and hitting the ground with a firm thud. A shock wave of pain travels upwards from the force and he grimaces, stifling a pained groan. He lifts his left front leg, stretching out the joint before he starts trotting. The afternoon air is mild, teetering the line of frigid and comfortably warm. Around him the air is clear, sun shining with no clouds tainting the sky with a gentle breeze blustering through on an occasion.
Iliad shifts his tail, hair dragging through the grass and he lets his eyes drift over the meadow. The solitude almost grates at him. No one can listen to his godawful attempts at remember that gosh darn song. “Good golly miss molly what is that sweet jam I can’t remember,” Iliad murmurs and gently tugs at the strap to his instrument to let it hang. He strums cords using his telekinesis, listening to the soft melody as he repeats the lyrics he sang during flight. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” Iliad sings the vulgarity, as he lifts his head. “Oh sweet memory of mine, quit being filled with slime so I can remember that sweet rhyme.” Certainly not his best composition, but, he can’t help but chuckle at his own joke. He decides to keep strumming his banjo as he stands in the middle of the meadow. It isn’t long before he starts carelessly dancing to his own tune, wings moving about in a dramatic movement as he steps in rhythm to the song, humming along to the tune, even without an audience he can at the very least entertain himself.
Iliad
Let me not then die ingloriously and without a struggle,
but let me first do some great thing that shall be told among men hereafter.
She had taken to exploring every inch of her new home as possible, despite her near-crushing fear of being killed to death by some awful creature that wanted her dead for reasons she couldn’t understand. You see, Coraline is a three year old in body, but in her mind, she is still a yearling. She had been enveloped in a magical coma that held her for two years, allowing her body to age, but her mind to remain dormant. And because her mother was a real piece of work, the filly was terrified of nearly everything. Everything was going to kill her. Each sound was a predator, ready to pounce. Her mother really screwed her up badly. But the filly didn’t blame her, after all, she was blemished. While her coat was the pristine silver that everyone else in her herd had, she was marked. Her legs, mane, tail, muzzle and points were all black. Black! Tarnished! And on top of that (as if it weren’t bad enough!) she had buttons for eyes. Nobody understood how it happened, or why. Her mother wanted to kill her, but because of the strange love she had for the child’s father, allowed her to live. But there were no fairy-tale stories, or being snuggled. No love or affection. Even feedings were few and meager at best. The filly learned to be quiet and stay hidden, for she was some sort of monster. At least, that’s what her mother taught her.
So back to the story at hand. The girl was exploring when she heard a melodic voice. Hiding wherever she could find a shady place (because you can’t really hide when your fur is a glittery silver!) she listened to the song. She didn’t understand it, but thought it was a beautiful voice all the same. Slowly, she crept closer, trying her best to stay hidden and silent. The creature (who happens to be another horse-like entity) comes into view, and the filly stares at him. He had wings, too. Was she the only one in this place without wings? Was she still a freak among oddities? She made a fretful sound in her throat and then froze, knowing he heard her. All predators had good ears. He was going to eat her now, because she witnessed some strange ritual. She was sure of it. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, a cloud shifted, throwing sunlight on her fur, ensuring she was glittering and visible. The filly tried to hunch herself into a tiny ball, wishing desperately to be invisible. All she could think was, “please kill me fast…I don’t want it to hurt!”
Iliad knows with every performance comes those who are less than appreciative. Nicodemus, for example, makes it his goal to piss on his choice of instrument every chance that he gets despite how phenomenal he is at playing his banjo. It became a habit to play some 2 AM riffs just to grate the necromancer’s nerves and listen to him rant at his blatant antagonism. Still, the two were often inseparable for the sole purpose of practicality. There was a shared familiarity between them and an understanding of a long lost home.
It is not long before he notes the filly from the corner of his eye. Iliad turns to face her, still strumming on his banjo though his humming has ceased. One moment the filly there and then realizes that she looks genuinely frightful. A look of concern and confusion flashes over his face and his head tilts a bit.
“Uuhhhhh…. Everything okay?” Iliad asks as he tucks his wings tightly at his side and he moves to take a step towards the filly. “Cause you look about ready to piss yourself."
Iliad
Let me not then die ingloriously and without a struggle,
but let me first do some great thing that shall be told among men hereafter.
The music was soothing, but she was still terrified. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to be afraid, but it had been near beaten into her head as a newborn up until she was weaned. It hadn’t gotten better as she aged. She had learned once that not everyone was so bad, but this new place was so different and scary. And she didn’t have Pandora to reassure her. She knew the plush fox with sewn seams and the same button eyes was around here somewhere, but the strange magic refused to let them be together until she passed some test she didn’t understand. The filly wrinkled her nose and then threw her head up as the music stopped and the stallion faced her, and then worse! He moved closer! He asked if she was alright, and she stared for a moment through her button eyes, stammering and quivering. Obviously she was not ok, but she couldn’t tell him that. She wanted to be big and brave and not afraid. But how? How could she do that? How could she be not afraid when she was locked in her own mind? Ugh! Damn her mother for her cruel ways.
”You aren’t going to eat me, are you? I didn’t mean to intrude…” She assumed that everyone she found by accident was going to be upset and inevitably turn into a horse-eating monster in its fury. But he didn’t look like a monster. Maybe he wasn’t so bad? Maybe he was just like she was (without the buttons, and with wings and some strange music around his neck) like the mare, Inkheart. She had wings. The filly felt a trill of hope in her breast. Maybe she wouldn’t be eaten today, and could make a friend! What a curious concept. ”I heard the music. It was pretty.” She didn’t know if “pretty” was a good word, but her mind was that of a yearling, and yearlings liked pretty things. You see, my darling silver girl was three, but had been in a magical coma for two years, leaving her body to grow, but her mind to remain the same. It was almost a crime, what the poor girl had been through, but there was no undoing what the magic had done. All she could do was live her life and try to grow out of her strange fears.
”I’m Coraline.” Her voice was sweet and soft, like the tinkling of many tiny bells. She was, truly, a sweet girl with a lot of potential, but she first had to realize it, and then live up to it. Maybe one day she could stride up to a stranger, introduce herself, and play a friendly game of tag. That’s what adults did…wasn’t it?
