y golden shoes press softly into the soil of the cliffside, marring the earth with a fierceness saying “I am here, I was here, I will still be here long after you are gone,” as I push myself further and further away as the sun sets over the ocean. These hours belong to Vespera and Vespera abandoned me when I pressed myself, willingly, selfishly, beneath the burning skies of Solterra to a girl with blood on the brain. So, I turn my face from the setting sun, the sight so many others have gathered with their lovers to watch, gathered with their solitude, and with every ounce of belief and faith and devotion they can muster. It is a devotion I no longer know if it is soul-deep or surface-deep when I wear it anymore.
None of it matters as I enter the capitol where dirt turns to cobbled streets and the houses sparkle with stars and colors of a dying light that will never truly die. Merry denizens laugh as their shoulders clink together like flutes of wine Miriam would bring me.
The beast inside growls.
In her anger, in our seclusion, she would choose murder and mirth. Clumsily I shake her claws from my stomach, letting it loosen and relax once more, pushing aside the simmering rage, ignoring the knots that would keep me from health if I paid them mind. She hurls herself against walls built by years of practice, and I know I cannot ignore her for long. Soon we will hunt, and soon her thirst will be sated.
With a roll of my eyes that matches the roll of my shoulders, loosening muscles long tense under a cold sun and frosted fields. Ducking under a crooked sign, a door opens as I slip into the Drinking Dove. Nary an eye turns towards me, the other soldiers knowing me well enough, and I weave through the bodies that have trained me and molded me, and in turn been hardened by my horn pressed to their flesh, by my teeth so near their bones, until I reach the counter. Behind it, Della smiles brightly at me and blows a kiss.
Silently I ask her for my usual, and she comes back with something that smells like death. “All out of the usual, dollface. Winter’s tough on trade.” Huffing, I look to the men to my left, they grimace back. ”Perhaps our sovereign could look into that. Our taps are an important thing,” I say with a smile and matching grimace, sipping from the tankard of ale. “You’d best let someone else sweettalk him then, sweetheart. I don’t think he’s into tails like yours.”
Scattered laughter from those who listen rings alongside my own. This would do for now. This would warm our bellies and keep my little monster at bay for a while at least. Nothing is different or changed. It is another night that Henry will ignore me, hidden in his room; another night my father will say nothing when I slip into the house in the wee hours of the morning; another night of muddied clothes and restless wandering and restless thoughts that won’t let me be even in my dreams.
It’s just another day, another sunset, another night.
sister, i hear you laugh, my heart fills full of love
keep me please, sister, when you cry
i feel your tears, running down my face
The mare moved slowly through the streets, the setting sun already causing a subtle glow to be produced from the dark stripes of her pelt. Moving forward, the aquatic mare smiled as others greeted her by name, warmth in the tones. It seemed like so long ago others had whispered nervously when they had first seen her. Worried that a kelpie, a seafaring witch who would prey upon their flesh; had washed ashore and into Dusk. Now, it seemed like more knew she was different, friendly, a trusted member of the militia, by one of the few battle mages in all of Novus. No longer feared . . . it was a lovely change to make . . . finally, she was really seeing Novus as a home, a place where she could have a future.
She turned through the cobbled streets before slipping into the bar she'd heard others within the military frequented, slipping in and feeling just a little out of sort. Real soldiers, the ones that could fight, had learned together and honed themselves into a weapon. Did they see her as some cheater who slid her way in because of war-orientated magic? Did they truly accept her as part of the military? Did they laugh over the fact she couldn't truly hold her own on land . . . Did they know, should they come into her domain, tables would quickly turn. That her lack of prowess on land was because she was designed to fight in the depths of the ocean. That below the waves she ruled like a proper champion, tackle anything that tried to knock her back.
Instead of worrying too much further, the mare meanders through the group, approaching the bar, being passed a brew that smelt like seawater, and looked like pureed seaweed, but was her preference. Around her, others were joking about taps being important, and the suggestion of someone else to sweet talk Liam. She snorted faintly at the words being said, casually drawling out, "Doubt that man wants to be sweettalked by anyone who ain't a certain dark-hued stallion, from what I've seen." And with her developing friendship with the Sovereign, she'd definitely seen, and heard in his voice, how much Bucky met to him. She knocked back a quarter of her cup, the taste almost reminded her of home. Sea water, cold and pungent, the light taste of seaweed, and the hint of crustaceans. "But that's just my observations." She added airly.
e would do anything for love,” I muse softly, thinking of what I may or may not do for that L word that I haven’t said. I haven’t said it and I don’t mind. What is it but another lie, another wound to be pressed into flesh, burned into memory, left rotting when open and abandoned. Love. It disgusts me, and even so, I still smirk to the battle mage, “and you know how men love their beer.”
I know the way my nose wrinkles, just slightly, as I take another swig of the sewer beer in front of me is delicate, feminine. Just one glance and I seem more a doll than a warrior, something to be hidden behind balustrade walls, hurried behind closed doors if ever a fight were to break out. We, Henry, my father, those who train with me, are careful not to leave scars on the surface. Nonna would just cleanse them from my skin later, tutting over the fit of my fur, the placement of teeth pressed deeply into it, with eyes full of equal parts scorn and fondness. When mother fell ill, it was she who helped brush back my hair and braid it down for a time. It was she who came and made me warm milk the nights I could not sleep while Henry was away. Father never so much as looked to see me shatter. Us shatter.
Claws tighten.
Taking a bigger drink, throwing the rest of whatever it was back with unladylike gulps, I tip my head to Della, asking for another. Anything to take off the edge. "Perhaps you’ve an ear with that dark-haired man?” I ask, at last turning to look at Below Zero. She is to water as I am to stars, it’s clear. Her skin breathes the smoothness of seals, her tail balances her as ours do not. Practice. How much discipline did it take for her to learn our ways – the ways of a surface world?
Behind us, if the men chatter, I do not listen. In all ways, this woman is fascinating. "You’re Below Zero, no? They whisper you know. But people always do,” it’s a statement followed by a shrug. Let them talk, let the sky rain blood, let the world freeze, and please Goddess, let Bel stay blue. When I see her, I do not see the red that chases my dreams. With her glow, I can ignore the hunger…for a moment. For another drink. Della’s sigh catches my attention and I make a sour face at her. Perhaps I drink too much.
sister, i hear you laugh, my heart fills full of love
keep me please, sister, when you cry
i feel your tears, running down my face
The aquatic mare looked curiously to the other, head tilted to the side at the consideration of what some would do for love - before she had added the aspect of men for beer. Bel laughed with a shake of her head. "I suspect it's also a case of what men wouldn't do for beer as well." She mused with a slight shake of her head. She sips at her drink in fairly companionable silence for a moment, her gaze merely curious at the being near her. A sort of curiosity that came from Bel's slow introduction into the ranks of the warriors, where she could still feel like an outsider. She was no fighter proper - not on land anyways . . .
At the thought of Bel having an ear of Bucky, she has to snort, closing both set of eyes, purely for the benefit of the others who would grow unnerved to see just one set close. The action itself speaks of her time on land, that conforming that she under went when instinct had taught her to close one set at a time, to allow herself to always be aware. In the midst of battle, instinct takes back over, but . . . among others, like this, Bel does her best to . . . keep the peace. Robbing herself of instincts, of characteristics that made her unique, that made her fit just a little better to this world of land and sky.
"With Bucky, not so much." She admits with a laugh, shaking her head, "To be fair, I haven't met him either. But Liam speaks of him with fondness." She explains, the personal way she addresses their sovereign speaks of a close friendship, of whose ear she does have. She does pause when she's called out by name, and she finally nods her head, trying not to feel the clench of her heart at the acknowledgement of the fact she was still different, untrusted, "Yes, I am. But you can call me Bel. Most who are familiar with me do." She pauses then, quiet, aware, "I'm sorry, but . . . I'm not sure I know your name." She admits after a moment, hiding the embarrassment of having to ask behind another drink of her glass.
![[Image: i-jTNwWx8.png]](https://photos.smugmug.com/BelowZeroNovus/n-X9d9fZ/i-jTNwWx8/1/e09fb6c3/O/i-jTNwWx8.png)
