take a drunk girl home
let her sleep all alone
leave her keys on the counter
your number by the phone
pick up her life she threw on the floor
Swahili stood, her ankles almost shaking, beside the front door of her father's manor. Her sisters where still getting ready, but Swa had wanted to make sure she was waiting and present as early as possible - putting on her best face, to prove to her father it wasn't a mistake to let her come along. The soft, pale cream silk flowed around her, and while it was clean, fresh - it was styled in the fashion of a few seasons ago - a hand-me-down from her siblings that had been outgrown, and thus tossed her way. Old, and unwanted; but still clean and well preserved so she wouldn't disgrace the family at such a prestigious event. The clicking of hooves against stone had the desert rose turning, watching her father's approach, noting the velveteen cloak drawn over his shoulders, the stark white mask upon his face. Her father was handsome - it was no surprise though, now with the picture the family all made together. He paused, seeing her already waiting, and his gaze searched her over.
"Father." She greeted quietly, bowing her head to him, her gaze casting to the floor, suddenly afraid he'd find something unfitting, and send her back to her room for the rest of the night, "Thank you for the opportunity to join you, and the rest of the family tonight. I promise to be on my best behavior, and serve House Ataear with my actions and presence." Her father sniffed slightly, nodding his head in a sharp jerk, As you should. Do not make me regret this decision, Swahili. Your brother assures me your behavior will be proper. Again his gaze sweeps over her, the sheer, pale cream shawl draping down her back, and the small cluster of rhinestones at her throat. The pale cream mask obscuring her face, the curls that bounced with her hair, and the pale ribbons she'd braided into those curls, You fit the part at the very least. We will be leaving when my wife and your siblings arrive. Swahili bowed her head once more, promising herself to be as proper as she could be tonight.
She didn't want to risk what ever he may choose to do to her if she didn't. She'd read books, all kinds of books about the unwanted children who get in the way of the parents. Of Cinderella and her step mother's tyranny, or of orphans placed in horrible homes under the watchful, cruel gaze of the matron. And while her father may never have struck her (in fact, he tended to forget she was there) who knew when he could turn into one of those individuals. She would do her best to behave at the very least. It was barely 15 minutes before she spotted her step-mother herding her sisters down the stairs, and soon they were on their way.
Arriving was fairly uneventful, her father leading the family to the new Sovereign to graciously greet her and thank the Dusk Queen for the chance to attend, and assuring her if she ever wished for a custom perfume blend, to look no further than her father's business. After that, the children where turned loose, though even Swahili noticed her father nod to a few discretely placed individuals who immediately took over watching over the wayward daughters for safety. To see one such individual tracking her with his eyes didn't lead her to a sense of safety though. He'd report any wrong doings surely! So the little rose meandered quietly away from the family, even as she watched her father go through the motions of making connections and selling his business. Her sisters found eligible bachelors to flirt with, and other females to gossip with.
Swahili, herself; however, moved to the edge of the ball, finding a selection of pillows laid out for resting individuals, and quietly lowered herself down, already determined to stay out of the way. She wasn't going to ruin this chance of freedom from those same boring halls, and same boring rooms in her wing of the manor. Even if it meant keeping to herself.
Jarek had arrived at the ball with the intent of learning more about the lands and people of Novus. To make connections in other courts would surely make life in the harsh environment easier. He was intent on discovering what snippets of wisdom or information he could bring back to his court. He was determined to find himself a place within the court, whether that be at the top or somewhere in the middle that was yet to be determined. He couldn’t help but feel his motivation soar. He could make a difference.
He had found himself a smooth chunk of wall the rest himself against, a place to watch and observe others. The place was busy, he’d never seen so many souls pressed into one location. Dancing, talking and general socialization. He of course knew how to dance from his upbringing at home, but his bones at this point didn’t feel the need to. He would take advantage of the distraction in the middle and flitter around the edges. To see who there was to meet and greet who wasn’t caught up in physical movement.
As he moved around he saw a flash of colours he thought was familiar. His mind danced quickly back to the day in the market square. It also caused him to remember the aspect she seemed afraid of. He meandered around, greeting and dipping his head to various souls making movement in her direction less obvious. He had wanted to be sure that his approach seemed organic and less…targeted.
There she was, laid out on the pillows. “Good Evening, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Jarek, a soldier of the Day court.” his eyes sparkling with slight mischief. He didn’t want to give away that they had previously met. As that would give away that she had left the house alone. He had left his long mane meticulously brushed loose tonight, it fell across his neck and curled waves. He had hoped he would find at least one familiar face here tonight, but this was an unexpected welcome surprise.
take a drunk girl home
let her sleep all alone
leave her keys on the counter
your number by the phone
pick up her life she threw on the floor
The desert blossom had found a place to settle her roots, where the rest of the world could pass her by without worrying about getting in the way of her father's progress. Just being here was a chance enough to feel free and normal. Not a flower in a vase forgotten about in the unused guest room. The music swirled around her, as she felt her muscles gently begin to relax, her gaze lowers to the pillows she is gentled against. Her ears twitch at the sound of approaching hooves, and as she looks up, she pauses, startled by the figure breaking free of the masses.
She knew the gem-encrusted pelt easily - it was the only sort she'd seen like that after all, and even as he attempted to appear less targetted in his approach, she knew that he would have recognized her colors as well. The mischief in his tone betrayed that as he introduced himself unnecessarily. She tilted her head, the curls of her mane falling against her neck as she observes him through the mask that obscures the pattern on her face. One glance to the side and she sees her guard watching Jarek closely, ready to intervene should it be deemed necessary, "You need not pretend. My father is aware of my escapade into the markets." She replies without care, looking away from him as she stares out into the crowd.
"I am not certain why you choose me to approach, however. Certainly, my position should have made it obvious I'm not entirely desiring to be part of the crowd. I've been to only a few balls in my life, but I tend to prefer them from the outside." She watches the way the crowd moves, their steps in dance a little more formal, a little less wild. Around her, the party was in full swing, but it felt so orchestrated. "I love the music . . ." Her voice is softer this time, her muzzle in a frown, "But it always feels like those at these events are on display . . . Practiced moves, and perfect phrases. Nothing more than dolls in rehearsal." And that wasn't who her mother was. Wild, free; not a doll but a wild song, weaving through the world; and deep in Swahili's heart - she too wanted to be the wild song.
The music continued around him, amplified by the building they were within. It was beautiful. He hadn’t really heard anything projected in this manner before, briefly wondering if it was magical. Much like many things here, it wasn’t always obvious. It wasn’t worth the time to ponder such things too deeply. He was trying each day to live both in the moment and to be aware of his own decision making. It was an awkward balancing act he hoped would feel more natural with practice.
He listened to her words carefully, a soft smooth chuckle escaping her lips. “Are we a crowd? You assume so readily that it’s my desire to whisk you to the dance floor. In fact I thought it a more settled opportunity to get your perspective on our court. I won't pretend for a moment that I know any of these routines” with a soft sigh he leaned against a wall. He could feel the eyes of her guard upon him, but he didn’t allow himself to be intimidated. This was a social gathering for social purposes and he had done nothing wrong.
“I suppose they appear perfect now, but for long did they practice this dance, for this very moment? So much weight on a single interaction. There is far more to an individual than how well they can move to music. There is no creativity in the uniformity of their movement. I’d rather watch all these souls dancing when no one is watching, see what their natural movements feel like. I think it’d be a more accurate display of their suitableness for each other.” his own mind thinking back to the drum-beats and sweat laden dancing of his own people. There were of course faults with the culture, but one thing's for certain - the movements were passionate and real. It was less of an act and more of an experience.
He hadn’t dressed himself up for the event, he had been unsure of what was suitable or expected. Perhaps this would be disappointing to some. He was most comfortable in his own flesh, not covered in unfamiliar clothing and weird scents.
take a drunk girl home
let her sleep all alone
leave her keys on the counter
your number by the phone
pick up her life she threw on the floor
The desert dancer glances towards the odd gem encrusted stallion, her head tilting the side just enough to send the locks of curls tumbling down her cheek, though his chuckled answer produced a frown of consideration. "I've learned in many situations, even one can be a crowd if your inner voice is screaming loud enough." She retorted, before blinking at his comment of wanting her persepctive on Day Court, "I am the last one to ask such a matter. While I may be a member of the court, I am not among the court's populace often. Further, I wasn't raised in the Courts at all." She pauses, she hesitates, her gaze clearly searching to locate where her family members are, how far away the guards are, before she further explains, "My mother is a member of a nomadic tribe of gypsies out in the desert. I was raised until I was roughly six months old in the deserts, in an entirely different environment than the courts." She offered, the faintest hint of a smile breaching her outwards appearance at the memories. "Upon arriving at my father's doorstep, he spent the next many months tailoring my education to be a proper member of the upper elite society with in Novus."
Her mind strays to the alley of outcasts. To the peddlers desperate for a dollar. To the old croons who sell tonics that do what they're supposed to, but their cripple appearance scares most buyers away. "However, in any civilization such as this, there are flaws. There always will be. Walk the alleyways of Solterra, and you will see what I mean - when you stop walking among the general public, and your eyes are drawn to those left in the crevices of greatness. Able to see the light before them, but unable to emerge from the shadows they've been cast into." She shakes her head, and there is honest regret and sadness in her eyes for those who are forgotten and ignored, in large part, because she to is the forgotten and ignored outcast in her own family. Even now her father's gaze checks on each of her sisters with out coming anywhere near her - he's already forgotten her attendance. "In the shadows of greatness, you'll always find those who were walked over to reach the light. Are you the sort to climb over others to achieve your goals, if you are - then do not spare a thought for those of us, who dance in the shadows, and walk the alleys. We do not stand for false sympathies." It's the only warning she offers, as the desert rose turns to look at him, her hazel-green eyes searing into him. Not just warning him from making an enemy of the alley-walkers, but also aligning herself with them as well.
His attention turns to the dance, and she frowns at his words. Yes, the dancing may be practiced and perfect, but did he not see the act the very event wore, "It's not just the dancing that is perfect with out flaws - it's this very event. It's the stiff way the men interact. It's not social, it's not casual - it's business. My own father is making alliances to further his own profits as we speak. The ladies who curtesy and dance - do you not see the predatory gleam in their eyes. They are not hear for social interactions, they search for a future partner who will be able to carry them, and their children into the laps of luxury. The wealthy have come upon this event, they have stolen the true purpose of it . . . and it is . . . it is heartbreaking. A masquerade is meant to be a time to shed expectations, to try on the face, the being of something new, and live life in the moment. None of them see it that way - they merely are deploying all their acts, their mirror-perfected smiles, and award winning acting to further their own selves."
The blossom shakes her head before glancing briefly at the stallion when he comments on no creativity in their movements, and she snorts briefly, "This is the wrong sort of party for that. Search out bonfires, where the music is wild, and no one feels a need to care. You'll find the individuals there tend to be less of the wealthy - more of your average worker. But it's also where the entertainers let themselves shine. There are few places in Novus where we entertainers can let lose and be ourselves - bonfires tend to be one of them; and the Marketplace of Denocte another. There, you'll find others dancing in the dark, and not worrying over who may be watching." Her self included, sometimes.
She shakes her head, before unfolding her legs, and climbing to her hooves with a slight ripple of her pelt, realigning her curls, before eyeing the stallion, "Why do you ask me for my opinion on Solterra, though? She asks, as she moves to the table where the spread of food and drinks are laid out, her continued conversation the only offer he would be given to accompany her there. "Surely I'm not the only Solterran you've met there?" She adds as she collects a glass of a bubbly champagne for herself, eating the strawberry out of it. "Or are you so new to the lands, Jarek; that you're clinging to the only familiar faces you find?" There was an almost playful edge to her tone, the casual allowance of permitting his company - at least for tonight. She'd have to test him out later to see if he can keep up with her when she wasn't being the perfect daughter under her father's watchful eye another time.
He listened to her carefully. It was clear she was not as delicate as she would have the world believe. He could feel some of her rough edges on show occasionally in snippets of their conversation. It was this partially that made him curious. A proper mare of a fancy house that sneaked down alleyways, with guards that had to watch her - lest she get up to something worse?
“Well, I think it’s exactly that, your unique position that I find interesting. I saw you enter the ally, it is my intention to be familiar with all the walks of life within Solterra. I have an interest in bringing light to all the crevices, so none shall step on them on the way up. I come from a less than humble background, but it's very possible for it to fall to nothing. Once shattered, our morals and our choices in life are all we have left.” He held her intense gase, meeting it back with passionate blue fire within the depths of his own eyes.
He stopped speaking for a moment to further contemplate what she had said. “ I don’t offer false sympathies, I come from nothing. I have had the shadows ride my spine for longer than I care to acknowledge. It is your knowledge of the particular shadows of Solterra and the suffering of the unseen I wish to know more about. Perhaps it is something we could work together to alleviate.”
“Those bonfire dances sound more my speed then this setup.” he added freely. His own mind couldn’t help but picture the dances of his homelands. “I have been known to dance freely before a fire on occasion. Imagine if you took this entire room, blindfolded them. Give them a drum beat then let them find each other in dance. You’d soon find who was compatible and who was not” he said with a playful tone. It was true, how you communicated with touch and voice would determine perhaps how well matched you were. “That is, if they could even let themselves feel the drum.” he said with a slight shake of his head. Some in truth were very resistant to that instinct that surely survived in each and every one of them?
He chuckled softly at her somewhat barbed comments. “Your face is worth admiring more than once. But I am far more interested in what’s within your skull.” he replied playfully, his icy blue eyes mischievous. Oh, he could see the mischief and the good deeds they could run together. “But yes I am very new to this place.” he added softly.
take a drunk girl home
let her sleep all alone
leave her keys on the counter
your number by the phone
pick up her life she threw on the floor
The gypsy rose was watching the stallion, likely as carefully as he was listening to her. But what could he really hope to learn from her when she worked so hard to craft the perfect persona. That of a mere wealthy daughter who flirted with danger. Wasn't that the best example of who she could pretend she was? Not the trapped gypsy forced to wear the wealthy daughter's persona. Even her story was carefully manufactured - the story of being raised by a mother who was more nomadic before being taken in by her sire told the story of a daughter raised in wealth. No one could truly understand nature versus nurture unless the could see into her soul, read into her mind. Hopefully, no magic would gift someone with that ability. "Do you intend to be familiar with all walks of life, or to understand the way those individuals walk through life. There is a vast difference between the two, after all. Bringing light to the crevices is good in some thought, but what - pray tell - will you do when you discover that many will shy away from that light? Not all of those with a lesser place in life want to be put on display, to be taken care of, to be solved. While I admire what you are wanting to do, you must understand . . . Not everyone in those alleys will want help, and not all of them will deserve it. While the poor live in those alleys, so do the thieves, murderers and villains."
Jarek certainly talked a good talk, but even if he had passion, he needed to comprehend that passion only got you so far, and there was no way to save everyone. And then he spoke and she frowned. He had just stated he came from a less than humble background - meaning he was like she - from a wealthier walk of life. But now he's stating that he came from nothing. "Less than humble background, or nothing? Which is it, Jarek. For no one can come from both." She retorted sharply, her gaze suddenly guarded again in what could have either been a slip of the tongue, or a lie he forgot his line for. "Just because some live in the shadows, does not mean they are all suffering, nor does it mean that they want those shadows illuminated. Not every shadow is bad. Some shadows protect others." She argued, meeting his passionate gaze with her own, standing a little taller to show she wouldn't back down from this view.
Trying to rid the world of the alleys, and the lessers would never do any good, particularly for as long as he considered them to be merely unseen and suffering. There was sooo much more going on in the alleys then just that. Thankfully the topic soothed to the talk of bonfires, and dancing freely around the fire. She had to snort at the idea of blindfolding the room though, "Too many here arrived with the intentions to find a future spouse to be willing to be blinded folded and able to dance. My own future spouse is likely to be in attendance and spoken to by my father. This is not a dance, for dancing sakes. The wealthy will use it as a means of expanding their circle of power, establishing new connections, and I certainly would not be surprised if a number of marriage contracts are made tonight. It is simply the way these kinds of minds work."
She tilted her head at his comments, before snorting in amusement, "Likely difficult to admire my face through this mask, is it not?" He asks with amusement, before tilting her head at the idea of him being interested in her mind, "Please do understand, Jarek, my thoughts are not always the most common for Day - I do hope I am not the only one that you are conspiring with. I'd hate to lead your thoughts astray - particularly if you are so very new to this land." She turned back towards him, suddenly amused, before trotting past him, and snapping up a lock of his hair in her passing, tugging it lightly before releasing it, so he knows he can continue to keep her company, "Well, ask what questions you have, so you may feel less new. If I don't have answers for you, perhaps you'll find someone else to ask. Shall we dance while we talk? Let's see if you know how to follow the beat of the drum?" She adds, as she slips into one of the side court yards, rather abandoned, but still able to hear the music next door - but one where her father would not be angry if she chose to dance as her roots demanded - a gypsy wild and free, and already swaying, and twirling to the music. "Do you know why Day Court thrives despite the heat - have you walked the streets, tasted the spice on the wind? The Day Court is full of fighting souls. Each and every one of us. Some may fight in a more obvious way, with weapon in hoof. But it's our spirits that hold that power to not be crushed under the weight of others." She spun again, on the beat of the music, her gaze turning up to him, "Do you have a spirit that will not be crushed and shaped under the weight of others? Or are you the sort that allows others to map out your decisions? How easily do you succumb to another's opinion, another's thought? Do you shape your choices by their reactions to those decisions - or do you hold your own personality, and hold yourself true to it?" She spun back towards him, staring deeply into his eyes.
"Who are you, beneath the 'guise of a stallion who wants to illuminate every shadow you find. And why are you so against shadows, Jarek?" Why deny the shadows that allow others to do their own work. Why deny the shadows that have their own purposes as well?
He listened carefully to her words, how they were spoken and which she chose to use. The sentences flowed together neatly and she was clearly well educated. The fire of her wit could be felt behind them, mischievous and burning. It only served to make Jarek more curious about what role this mare played within the society here that functioned behind closed doors. Clearly something of significance happened there.
“Well, honestly there must be light to cast a shadow. If there was no light we would all be cast in darkness permanently. I simply want to understand what is not immediately visible to the outsider. What those in need desire, if they want help - I wish to provide it. Innocents born into suffering that have not yet had time to write their own lifelines. I want to give souls a choice about what they do with their lives. Maybe it will make it easier to make choices that don’t end in crime.” he said with a soft sigh. It was truly a complicated issue he needed to learn more about.
“Well, I was born into a royal family that quickly fell asunder, It’s possible to have all the wealth in the world but be poorer for it. I have nothing left of my birth beyond my genetics and personal experiences. I wandered the desert for many years with nothing to my name before coming to Novus. I can see how that could be confusing.” Her next response did not surprise him, but it did shed some insight into the function of this place. “Connections for power alone are corrupting. I hope your father chooses someone at least who is acceptable to you. This practice concerns me greatly” he said softly, his tone laced with concern.
He followed her into the side courtyard, already feeling more free of the constraining indoors location. The fresh cool air is a welcome sensation on his charcoal pelt. “I am interested in collecting the thoughts of many to ensure my opinions are not misplaced. It is foolish to believe any creature to have all the answers.” he said with a soft snort, his mind couldn’t help but loop back to the rule of his father and how that had gone so disastrously.
He allowed himself to feel the beat of the music and moved freely in time. The connection of his hooves to stone was rhymically pleasing. It had been some time since he had felt the desire to move in such a way. He had spent so very long wandering and searching for something more. His soul was tired, the music wasn’t ideal but it still felt satisfying to connect in this way. Perhaps this was a method to lower his guard, he didn’t mind. He wasn’t talking to her with the intention of deceiving her, he simply desired to form a connection.
He held her gaze, feeling the intensity of the eye contact “I am no weak soul to be bent by others, but I am not so arrogant to believe that I am perfect. Taking into account as much information as possible allows for decision making that isn’t blind with ambition.” He laughed, feeling the freedom in the depth of his stomach. She was a quality company.
“Shadows are fine if one chooses to connect with them. Shadows that ride the soul and don’t allow reprieve occasionally within the light is torture. I simply wish to know what lurks in the shadows that isn’t common knowledge. I want to do better, to be better. I fight with my whole spirit for that is my nature.” He couldn’t help but throw his head slightly and move more dramatically at this comment. He was enjoying himself at this dance, and this wasn’t at all what he had expected.
“What about your motivations then, we dance in a side court, we speak of arranged marriages. But I feel like your soul is more determined than that. That you would not let others dictate your life either.” he smirked and gave her a similar intense gaze that she had given him.
OOC: I did not expect him to be having this much fun @Swahili
take a drunk girl home
let her sleep all alone
leave her keys on the counter
your number by the phone
pick up her life she threw on the floor
The rose was torn between being impressed, and being annoyed by the stallion. He said good words, yes, but it still felt difficult to deem truth from potentially manipulative methods. Was he saying what he thought she wanted to hear or was he being honest? And so, she became all the more determined to narrow through his words - to determine their truth - through further communication. It was the best way to learn about another - no? She was quiet as he spoke of light casting a shadow - that without light, darkness would be permanent. Expressing his desire to understand 'what is not immediately visible to the outsider'. It was a valiant desire, but she still found herself frowning in hesitation, in the reservation. She just wasn't sure what he wanted to find, and what he hoped to uncover with it. 'What those in need desire' he states - as if the individuals were in need of something to get them out of the shadows. 'Innocents born into suffering' he called it. Did he not understand how many of them prefer those lives he made. "Stop." Her voice was quick, sharp, and decisive, as her muzzle poked into his chest, "You need to stop right there. Let me make one thing clear. Those who have been 'born into suffering' as you call it; it's rarely the suffering you imagine. Their lives may be simpler, may be with less items of value on hand, but do not assume that they need fancy things to make decisions, to not 'end in crime.' You are judging a people before you meet them by that very sentence! Do you assume that those who live in the shadows are the low lives? Are the criminals? Some may be, certainly, but do not assume that they all are criminals! That will do nothing but continue to brand yourself an outsider that no one would approach. Do not classify those you do not know, do not villianify them when you don't know the lives you lead." Her voice wasn't soft, it wasn't kind, but it was impassioned for the people she identified with in her own way, the people who had taken her into their arms and given her the attention she had craved all her life.
She would not let him speak ill about what he did not know. "Hold your judgement, Jarek; until you see for yourself what the life in the alleys really is like." He spoke then of being a from a royal family that fell. That the wealth had meant little, his world 'poorer' for it, with nothing left now but genetics and personal experience from his birth. Wandering the desert with nothing but his name." She is quiet, her gaze narrowed, watching him, "And what is it you intend to do now with yourself then Jarek? What is your real goal in wanting to learn of Solterra from me? What is it you are wanting to accomplish with this information? What is your end goal?" She asked, her guard immediately up upon learning he was a foreign royal now digging apart the workings of Solterra. Was he trying to discover what Solterra was like on all parts in preparation for an overtaking? She snorts at the thought of connections for power being corrupting, "I would hardly call the connections for power being only corrupting. Some of it is for protection. Power plays a lot in any interactions - but most of the connections being made isn't just in power of the name, but power of a company - to make new connections in combining the power of two families through a marriage alliance. It is the way of the elites in not just Solterra, but all of Novus. Your concern won't do anything to stop it. It is just the way of the life when you're born into a particular place of society."
The ability to leave the majority of the party did have a softening effect on the mare who was being her best version of her father's daughter while in public. Stepping out of the light was like her entire body seemingly settling, breathing easier. Tension was released, her steps lightening, and her green eyes turned towards him, tilting her head quietly, "But why are you collecting so many thoughts, Jarek. What is your purpose with gaining all of this knowledge. Why should anyone trust you?" She mused, but there was a softer quality to her voice, now that she no longer felt on display - watched. The truest form of Swahili emerging again, as the music soothed her in a way her ancestors would have smiled over, igniting that gypsy soul, sending fire to her blood. She swayed, she stepped, she twirled, she found herself relaxing finally, perhaps for the first time that night.
As he holds her gaze, she tilts her head as he calls himself 'no weak soul' that he wouldn't be bent by others, but also believes he is not purpose. Not wanting to be blinded by ambition. She snorts once, twirling in time with the music, the occasional snap of a hoof to the beat, "Shadows that ride the soul aren't shadows. That's darkness, and it's different. Shadows shade the eyes, to obscure the reason for pain. Shadows stain the face in displeasure. It shrouds steps of the sneaky and sly. But the ones that hover on the soul is darkness, and dangerous to health - to life. The shadow is the equal of the light. They work in balance, in steadiness. But the shadow you describe . . . that is evil, that is death. It is the smoke that clogs the lungs from the fire. It is the river waters rising above ones head, while a hoof is trapped between rocks." His dramatics had the dame roll her eyes however, before tilting her head at his question of her motives, "My motivations in life? Well, that would be telling no wouldn't it? But that's my story, and unlike some - I do not tell it freely. Just know, my soul contains a fire that will not be dimmed, and it's that fire that empassions me to anything I set my gaze towards." The gypsy would hold her cards close to her chest, least he peeks and cost her the game of life she was playing against her father.
I heard from God today and She sounded just like me What have I done, and who have I become? I saw the devil today and he looked a lot like me I looked away, I turned away
He felt like he had been dancing with wildfire. Her spirit was both flickering and scorching, his attempts to converse with her had simply fanned the flames of her soul. He had the best intentions at heart, but perhaps it was also that which revealed his lack of experience in this direct matter. He simply needed to be and to do better. It was the poking at her warm muzzle to his chest that sucked the wind from his lungs. He had been caught in words that hadn’t been received the way he intended. It was difficult to explain the warm desire within him to provide something better, to be something better? The spirited mare had certainly taken some of the wind from his sails.
“I do not pretend to know it all. I do not wish to force anyone, or place anyone into any neat box. All I simply wish is that no one soul feels that they cannot shape their own future. For each individual to be able to choose who they wish to be. To live the kind of life they want to. Provided it doesn’t cause the unnecessary suffering of others. So tell me then, do these souls need something more from solterra? Or are they generally satisfied with their lot in life? Can you say that for certain?” His own voice was impassioned, but he was of course open to being corrected.
“You do not need to trust me so readily, what exactly my intentions are - is not entirely clear yet to myself if I am being entirely honest Swahili. I must know more, to know if I am needed. If I can provide something more; I will. All I ask is that you keep your mind open, grant me at least the time to show what I feel and say is true. I wish to be your ally; we can work together.” his voice was genuine, he would not raise it even on being questioned directly. Why should she trust him after all? He was a stranger in a strange land.
With this he moved once more, smoothly; letting some of the tension fall to the sides. It felt good to move, the music could be so much more appropriate. He wished he could feel the deep banging beat of the drums of his homelands. The welcome smoky aroma of bonfires burning late into the night. This is where souls came to know each other properly. It was almost appropriate that here he was bearing his soul's intentions. “I do not expect you to trust me, but I hope in time you will.” The dancing movements were rhythmic and satisfying, It felt good to release some of the tension.
