arley is no fool, but he's no fighter, either, not the way Beech is, always ready to defend against large and small with bristling whiskers and those sharp yellow teeth. But Beech is still missing, and if there is anything drifting across the telepathic bond the four share, none of them give him away, not a single whisker twitches, no ear or eye turns to find him. When Oculos charges ahead, Barley leaps back, his tail spinning like a boat's propeller and his legs splayed wide, graceless, until they catch Rivane's long tail in its upswing and he scurries back to the bag at her hip where Breadnut grumbles his I told you so's.
Rivane grunts softly when she crashes into the wall of Kassandra, but she recovers quickly, her breath hissing through narrowed nostrils while the roan scolds; she does not think that either stallion looks very impressed, or very sorry. Teeth bare, a hint of threat that dissolves partly when she hears herself called 'friend' because her ears lift away from her neck and her red eyes turn startled, but the menace returns three-fold. Her tail flicks out at them, and the bay is close enough that those four wicked steel claws grasp the edges of his tattered traveler's cloak. Startled, he leaps away with his bereft staff and the decency to almost appear cowed. He edges away as if to disappear into the shadows between bonfire and bar, and Rivane's gaze turns away from him to the second stallion that leers at the pair of them.
"Ah, is that so?" The painted stallion draws up too close, emboldened by the ale that sours his breath, and Rivane knows immediately where he's headed, the silent suggestion of it makes her low-snaked head pull up. She is vaguely aware of Oculus' growling, and of the weight of Kassandra's neck across her back, but her attention focuses wholly on the painted stallion's scarred coat. She's met more than her share of his sort in other lands, at other bars, but losing the creeps once they've set their sights on you is not always easy. She struggles for a moment with what to do, unwilling to capitulate, and unwilling to start a brawl she's likely to lose, but in that pause, she's already missed her chance to control the situation. The stallion's grin widens, victorious.
"Well, I'd love to have a good time with you and Ears, here," he laughs, turning from the livid Rivane to the roan's ever-so-slightly unsteady gaze with a too-sly grin. "Whaddaya say?"
The painted stallion continues to leer at them, and one of his friends, finding courage in his drink, also lingers nearby. She is lost somewhere in the weight of Rivane’s body against her and the alcohol in her blood. She imagines little rat feet scrabbling in her head where she knows she should be afraid but she can’t bring herself to care. She has no natural defenses, carries no weapons, and wields no magic. What does she have to bring to bear?
Oculos’ voice is a sarcastic drum in her head. (Sure be great if you could have one of your freak visions right now.) And the light clicks on in Kas’ head.
There came the uncomfortable, yet familiar, pinching in her skull as she let her jaw fall slack and her tongue lolled forward. Her cheeks flexed in an unnatural manner; her nostrils flared. Her eyes twisted in their sockets until all that was visible was the unnatural and too white backside and the red veins that ran through them. It was a terrifying sight, especially as her indigo visage stumbled to the side and spit and slavery began to roll from her mouth.
Her movements became jerky as though every muscle in her body was twitching individually pulled by some invisible hook sunk deep into her flesh. Her voice rasped like sandpaper against the dry of her throat-- dark, demonic, and echoing in an otherworldly manner. And from the depths of her chest came horrific verses, terrifying and chilling to behold, though ones she knew as well as the top of her own hoof, if amended slightly.
“I see you climbing a ladder, your limbs disjointed, your lungs heaving and empty of air, weeds of your own making growing back into your bones.” She flicked her tail in a harsh motion and it grazed over the top of Oculos’ head; with well-practiced swiftness, the hound disappeared into the darkness behind the bar.
“You stamp upon the clinging tendrils to destroy them and break yourself into pieces like glass.” There was a creaking and a crashing noise as one of the pillars supporting the canopy above the bar came smashing down upon the bar top; the drink filled glasses of patrons shattered into the little pieces covering the shellac in alcohol. And still Cassandra was chanting in the strange and possessed voice:
“The veins of your own body are curling themselves into knots.”
A nearby tiki torch, suspended on a bamboo pole, came clattering down; The open flame connected with the spilled alcohol and sent up a great flame in many colors, whooshing loudly into the air, in blue, and red, and green, as the various concentrations of alcohol combusted on contact. It followed the path made by the spilled drinks, snaking down the bar towards the obnoxious stallions as Kas said, “Your veins are alight and burst from you with a fountain of fire and blood--”
--and her great blue form staggered forward and in the final breath she retched all over them, coloring the painted stallion’s flesh dirt-brown with the half-digested remnants of her drink. The air smells like smoke and acrid vomit and, of all things, nutmeg; and then Oculos (without thought) jumps on the still smoking bar, scattering glass shards, and snapped his pearly white fangs right in the roan stallion’s face.
There's a split-second among the cries of oh shit and aw gross where the world smells like piss, and Kas doesn't know if it's the effect of her visuals, her fake trance, the grossness of her “attack”, or the dogs’ teeth so close to them, but both stallions turn tail and stumble away, retching a bit themselves. Oculos tumbles from the bartop to the sand where he laughs until he, himself, feels ill.
Kassandra rights her eyes, wipes the spittle from her mouth off on her shoulder, and leans languidly against Rivane, like a drunk friend needing to be kept propped up. She has the grace, at least, to breathe in the opposite direction.
“They are going to ask us to leave now, and I’m sorr--sorrow we’ve ruined your night,” Kassandra half-hiccups, half-giggles, “but that was very fun.”
Everything happens at once. She isn't really sure how to describe the events, the words spilling over her back as @Kassandra trembles, white-eyed, and jerks strangely. The quarreling stallions are forgotten almost immediately, instead the twilight-cloaked mare shifts, turning with concern while the roan at her side loses herself to...
To what?
Red eyes flicker - can fire look worried? She does not see the disgust that twists the piebald stallion's face into something horrible, but she does see Oculos dart off behind the bar. Splintering wood behind them is her first clue, she's already finding a clear path from the bar, reaching out with bright teeth at silvery mane in an attempt to pull her back - and missing.
Her teeth snap together with a bright clack! The sound of it is lost in the noise of the canopy supports crashing down on top of the bar, to the shouts of surprise and panic, to the shattering glass and the soft foomph! of tiki torches lighting spilled drinks on fire. The bar's varnished top crackles under the flames, chaos erupts around them with Kassandra at its heart. In the midst of it all, she spies Beech, tucked safely under the foot of the bar, his paws resting protectively on the faceted sides of a shining sapphire, watching delightedly as the party falls to pieces around their ears.
There will be time to kill him later, she thinks to herself, turning back to Kassandra and the stallion, just in time to catch sight of a waterfall of brown erupting out of the other mare's mouth.
"Oh shit!"
The brawlers' faces contort and time freezes. She remembers other parties, other bars, and fights that have gone oh-so-differently, scars that lay hidden by the ghostly spots across her skin. But she'd been alone for those fights, in a place where everybody knew who she was and wanted her gone. Ears, he had called her. It wasn't the worst name she had ever been given, and it had lacked the vehemence of prejudice. Nobody here knows who she is.
They are going to ask us to leave now.
Yes, but not, for once, because of her.
The breathy chortling sound of Oculos's laughter reaches her ears and she turns to him, the grin that cracks his long narrow muzzle infectious. She laughs.
"Well. Yes, I don't suppose there's much reason to stay, unless you fancy getting burned?" She pauses, unsure how they are going to leave with Kassandra's weight leaning heavily on her shoulder, "That was the craziest thing I have ever seen, are you always this wild at parties?"
Beech's return is slow, weighed down by the stolen gemstone, and when he finally drops into the bag at her hip it drops heavily on Barley and Breadnut who squeak in protest. She has no doubt that it's the same that caused the argument in the first place.
"I can't believe nobody invites you to these?" Friendly sarcasm lacing the question as her red eyes fall briefly on Kassandra's stained face then skip away. There's a guard coming.
"We have to go now -- Yes, we're leaving, thank you, no I got her, we're fine! -- Can you walk on your own? I can't drag you out of here."
She steps towards what remains of the exit. Some of the strung pennants are still smoldering.
Kassandra’s visions had plagued her since her very first memories; since she was a spindle-legged, trembling babe, snatched from her mother’s side by a nameless thief and dragged before a cruel king who would demand a promise of his rise only to be delivered the gospel of his fall. It was not a particularly handy gift to have-- and, probably, faking one wasn’t the best plan of action to get them out of this situation. But, all cards on the table, and that was the one she picked. Kass had always been awful at cards.
An attendant hurried over and beat at the flames with their apron, but all the spilt alcohol had burnt up in the first, rainbow-hued burst and all that was left was a gentle, hickory-shadowed smoke. Some of the banners and dangling, decorative implements were also smouldering, but Kas thought that was a nice touch, a little bit of moving night, like physical things were becoming ethereal and turning to stardust before their eyes.
Mildly intoxicated Kass was even more dreamy and romantic than sober Kass, somehow.
For a moment of piercing, paralzying, needle-blooded fear, she thought Rivane would be mad. But she is laughing! And Kassandra is laughing. And how could the night be bad if they are all laughing? And she can walk, she just likes the feeling of being pressed up against Rivane a bit too much, like partners in crime. But the poor purple creature is having trouble hefting both their weights-- Kass is quite unused to being taller than another person-- and so she rights herself, stumbling only a little bit.
“I have not ever been to a party before,” Kassandra answers, and where there was once a sentiment of sadness there was white-tooth grinning glee. “And the only time I have ever done that before was when my uncle hit me in the stomach very hard. This was much less awful.”
Her stomach was beginning to settle and her head was clearing.
Oculos meets Rivane’s eyes and gives her the flashiest, most obnoxious wink he could possibly muster. we don’t really have a home. just around. He knows she can’t understand him, but he figures she’ll get the message. just help me get her somewhere quiet and dark and she’ll sleep it off.
Kassandra hides a less-than-delicate burp by bowing her head to her armpit. “Yes, what he said. Just somewhere out of the way and I’ll have a little nap, I think.”
Half-led, half-leading, the three of them-- six of them?-- find a quiet cluster of wax myrtle trees over a bed of soft marram high enough up the beach that the high tide does not reach it. The ground begins to solidify and turn back to real dirt there. Without prompting, Kassandra plops down, and tucks her legs in all neat and cozy; she is more tired than thought she was.
“You will probably want to return to the party,” she ventured under a heavy yawn. Oculos is busy poking his nose gently at the rat-bag, wanting to say his goodnights (and also see what his good buddy Beech collected). She was a bit sad, but not overly so, because it was not her place to limit Rivane’s enjoyment.
Also, she was already drifting off to sleep.
“I hope we can do this again someday,” she mumbled, laying her head down, losing the fight to keep her eyes open.
@Rivane | kass is go sleep now so this is a closer <3
