Send away for a priceless gift
One not subtle, one not on the list
Send away for a perfect world
One not simply, so absurd
In these times of doing what you're told
Keep these feelings, no one knows
What ever happened to the young man's heart?
Swallowed by pain, as he slowly fell apart
Lightly buzzed is a better state of being than before, where I wasn't really hungover so much as actively drunk as fuck. Still, what can be said for the sorry soul that stands aimlessly out at the sea? Spring rains begin to dance upon my back and the stirring sea. The sun hides behind the clouds rolling in, and I let my head hang low toward the increasingly angry tide as it rushes to coat my striped hooves. The sand gives way around me bit by bit as it is dragged out to sea. The rain comes harder, the prelude of innocent showers quickly being replaced by the main act of fierce storm.
And I'm staring down the barrel of a 45,
Swimming through the ashes of another life
No real reason to accept the way things have changed
Staring down the barrel of a 45
My eyes are half-lidded as I stare, only half-seeing the swirl of water, the foam bubbling up the beach. Slowly it rises up my hooves. The salty reeking of the sea that would normally burn the shit out of my nostrils is tempered by the bucketloads of freshwater spilling from the heavens. Any sane fool would seek shelter. After all it won't be long before thunder and lightning turn a temperamental rainstorm into a furious thunderstorm wreaking havoc on the landscape. But I'm not a sane fool. I'm an inebriated, miserable sod.
Send a message to the unborn child
Keep your eyes open for a while
In a box high up on the shelf, left for you, no one else
There's a piece of a puzzle known as life
Wrapped in guilt, sealed up tight
The disapproving stare that I've been trying to ignore has finally pierced my hide far enough to reach my heart, and I glance over my shoulder to see its owner. The hellhound whose soul is tied forever with my own glowers at me, protected by an overhang from surrounding cliffs. Of course Damaris is smart enough to protect herself from the storm, and not so self-deprecating or self-loathing as to think she has any reason to suffer from it. In some ways I deserve her condemnation, but in others a small part of my brain would like to think that I still hold the high ground. (Though in reality I'm the one getting wet....)
What ever happened to the young man's heart?
Swallowed by pain, as he slowly fell apart
And I'm staring down the barrel of a 45,
Swimming through the ashes of another life
No real reason to accept the way things have changed
Staring down the barrel of a 45
I've never taken you for one to be this dramatic, Rostislav. In our years together I've never seen you so morose just because you haven't heard from a woman you fancy. Not even a mate! I wince and turn my gaze back toward the raging sea. Now my feathers are getting soaked as the tide rises with the waves churned by storm. A binge-drinking tour?! What in all the Gods' names were you thinking? My heart contracts painfully over and over again at her words. All of her words. Foolish to leave just because I've missed Weir, begun doubting our moments together, wondering if I'll ever see her again. And yet. 'The goal was to not think.'
Everyone's pointing their fingers
Always condemning me
And nobody knows what I believe
I believe!
And I'm staring down the barrel of a 45,
Swimming through the ashes of another life
No real reason to accept the way things have changed
Staring down the barrel of a 45
forget the horror here IT'S FUTURE RUST & IT'S FUTURE DUST--
Salt and brine clung to the mare in a thin, sloppy layer, dripping down her limbs and sides with the steady assault of rain. It was strange, perhaps, to catch the queen of a desert realm emerging from the arms of the sea, the silver of her coat blending in with the churning grey of the waves as they broke against the shore, pummeled by rain; in spite of her camouflage, she was an aberration, an aftertaste of burning heat and gold. Nevertheless, there she was, slipping onto the chalky grey of the shoreline like some sort of unexplained mirage, a trick of the light.
What drew Seraphina to the shore? What, furthermore, possessed her to swim out into the sea until the tips of her charcoal hooves no longer scraped the ocean floor, tearing up silt and sand and disturbing all the little creatures that dwelled within? As she washed up with the tide, white hair trailing down her skin in rivulets, she could only recall the horrible sensation of the maze, the taste of the black water, like ink, swarming into her eyes and her mouth and her nose, the choking sensation of her chest collapsing when she drowned, the soft ache and heave of her sides as she pulled herself up on the shore, shaking and gelatinous…for the first time in a very long time, she had felt something like fear, though perhaps it was more of an inadequacy in hindsight.
After that, she taught herself to swim. Not for any necessity, she imagined – she did not often encounter mazes full of terrible monsters and endless, depthless black rivers, particularly considering the arid state of her homeland. Seraphina simply found a weakness, targeted it, and found a way to overcome it.
(For weeks after that, her stomach had knotted even as she stared at the pristine surface of the Oasis, and she swore she tasted that inky water in her mouth whenever she dipped her head to drink.)
As she drew onto the shoreline, her gaze caught on a familiar silhouette. Rostislav. She had no desire to see the Warden of Denocte, particularly after their last meeting…but he stood between her and the path leading up to the safety of the cliffs above, so she started towards him, any misgivings buried beneath her effortlessly cold, stiff visage. She took in the sight of him warily; the old warrior slumped miserably in the shallows, feathers stirred by the flush of the tide. Whether it was his alcohol or something more sentimental that plagued him she did not know – she was not sure if she cared. It was, after all, no business of hers. Further inland, she thought she caught sight of the glowing green eyes of his hellbeast of a companion, though she remained largely obscured by the rain. She could be a problem.
Surveying them both evenly, she offered a somewhat reluctant greeting, over the tranquil downpour. "Rostislav.” Seraphina considered his condition, briefly. A more sentimental creature might have inquired to its cause, but, for now, she simply waited to gauge his reaction. No reason to chance provoking him just yet – those old horns could still gouge a pretty hole in her, if he had the inclination.
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
02-21-2018, 08:47 PM - This post was last modified: 02-21-2018, 08:48 PM by Seraphina
Being caught in a torrential downpour was not how the Sun Daughter wished to spend her evening. The Warden of Terrastella had secluded herself to the shorelines of Novus, fully intending to long-trot through the sands to strengthen her legs. At first it had gone splendidly, her mood fair and sound. The clouds on the horizon had worried her slightly, but she had assumed that she would have time to return home. As luck would have it, the winds had changed, and too quickly they brought the clouds closer to shore, and with it, the cruelty of a spring rainstorm. Running into anyone else amidst such weather seemed impossible.
She had half the mind to turn around. Israfel wasn’t in the mood for company, her mood as sour and piss-poor as the raging weather around her, so when she spotted the two figures through the pelting rain, lingering upon the shoreline, she damn near did turn around… Except the promise of shelter, of reprieve from the unrelenting storm was just up ahead. The outcropping of rocks would allow for a dry place to wait out the storm, and that was her destination. Or, had been. She really didn’t want to deal with any company right now. Maybe she could just slink right on by.
The two strangers also appeared to be caught in the onslaught of the spring storm, and yet neither seemed particularly bothered about the fact. One, a robust figure of muscle and bulk and the color of sodden rust, stood forlornly within the water, churning waves pulling at the long hairs upon his legs. Israfel did not recognize him, but she did recognize his melancholic stature. The other figure she recognized only after blinking the rainwater from vermilion eyes, taking a moment to place the soaked mousey grey and alabaster. Seraphina, the Sovereign of Solterra. Israfel recalled their brief meeting. It had been pleasant enough. The Sovereign had allowed she and Isorath to linger among her Capitol, to assist in the wake of disaster. It was due to that visit that Israfel had developed a love for the deserts of Solterra.
What she wouldn’t give to be there now…
Stalking through the muddy sands, her hair hanging limp and sodden about her neck, Israfel advanced. She offered them both a glance, vermilion depths filled with a fire that the raging storm could not douse. If it were not for Seraphina’s presence, the Daughter of the Sun might have just ignored the moping stallion standing in the water, but the last thing that she wanted was to appear poorly in the presence of another Sovereign. Gods have mercy if word got back to Florentine of her behavior.
So, the Warden of Terrastella sucked it up. It was just a little rain. Fuck it, right? After all, she had worse. Dying tended to put all of that into perspective. Compared to that, chatting amidst a rainstorm was easy. Gilded hooves halted within the wet sand, the gold and ivory shield-maiden pausing upon the shore. She cast a cursory glance around before settling on the two, and offered Seraphina a respectful nod. “Lady.” It was all she offered by way of greeting, the word simple, yet meaningful. Israfel’s burning gaze turned then to the moping rust colored stallion. “… Far from the best place to take a bath.”
