kassandra
Kassandra was not one for feeling embarrassed. A bit dazed, yes, and constantly in a state of confusion, but she was not bashful or conscious, and was not made meek by simple things such as falling in the dirt. There were times when visions of great horrors danced before her eyes in glorious and terrible detail, and they, delivering to her the feeling of being a receiver of some awful, doom-bringing gift, is what filled her gut with shame. She saw herself, a bit subconsciously, as a doorway, and if she were not to exist, and never to open, then the awful things on the indeterminable Other Side— wherever in the universe it actually existed— could never cross the threshold and come to pass.
And so, when she looked up at Ipomoea and his rather stupefied face, with taut rings of fright pulling at the skin around his eyes, it was not a red-faced disgrace which crept to her countenance but a cautionary concern instead. She studied the gentle feathers on his hocks, the rosy hues swirling in his coat, and the lithe, long stretch of his limbs. In appearance, he seemed young, like she was, though Kassandra’s genetic heritage meant she had little growing ‘up’ remaining, and possibly a lot of growing ‘out’.
He came towards her, seemingly shaken out of some sympathetic stupor. Kass felt bits and pieces of the jungle’s flotsam and jetsam being pulled away from her and looked back at herself with genuine curiosity. She sniffed gently at a leaf as it lifted from her pelt.
That was quite the fall— there was an uneven shake in the stranger’s voice which brought her back to him; she saw his eyes peering deep into the forest— perhaps trying to pull it apart, as he had done with her impromptu natural trappings?— and she felt obliged to calm his nerves.
“Yes, I am well, thank you,” Kassandra said, preparing to heave herself to her feet. “My apologies for startling you; I hope I didn’t scare you too much.” She offered him a gentle smile. “The jungle seemed very heavy and close for a moment, and I’m afraid my nerves simply snapped.” She sighed in place of a shrug, as if to say you know how it goes.
Before she could lift her bulk off the ground there came a haughty voice and a snarky-sounding comment, the meaning of which sailed right over Kassandra’s head. She flicked her eyes towards the striking green and black form which broke from the trees in a way which reminded her of an iridescent-shelled insect from a spider’s web. “I don’t find it too extreme,” she responded, confused, genuine, and without a hint of sarcasm, “seeing as how the dirt is everywhere. Though this jungle is everywhere, now, too, it seems.” She paused, sucking at her cheeks in thought. “What if it swallows the world?” she added, quiet and an afterthought, a stray impulsive voiceline that could not be contained.
She did, however, readily accept the fantastical-colored stallion’s assistance with standing. “I like the soil,” she admitted, coming to her feet, “it’s the only thing that keeps us grounded. And it smells normal.” She thought of those nasty, fetid long-dead-stench flowers and, in turn, her Bonded, and, in another turn, him smothering himself in the smell, and her voice sounded a bit sardonic.
“My name is Kassandra,” she said when Ipomoea prompted the new stallion for an introduction, figuring, in her limited social knowledge, this was a good time to throw all the names in the hat. “I’m quite sorry for startling you, again, but— how’ve you come to have wings on your feet?” It was to be the first of many questions.
And so, when she looked up at Ipomoea and his rather stupefied face, with taut rings of fright pulling at the skin around his eyes, it was not a red-faced disgrace which crept to her countenance but a cautionary concern instead. She studied the gentle feathers on his hocks, the rosy hues swirling in his coat, and the lithe, long stretch of his limbs. In appearance, he seemed young, like she was, though Kassandra’s genetic heritage meant she had little growing ‘up’ remaining, and possibly a lot of growing ‘out’.
He came towards her, seemingly shaken out of some sympathetic stupor. Kass felt bits and pieces of the jungle’s flotsam and jetsam being pulled away from her and looked back at herself with genuine curiosity. She sniffed gently at a leaf as it lifted from her pelt.
That was quite the fall— there was an uneven shake in the stranger’s voice which brought her back to him; she saw his eyes peering deep into the forest— perhaps trying to pull it apart, as he had done with her impromptu natural trappings?— and she felt obliged to calm his nerves.
“Yes, I am well, thank you,” Kassandra said, preparing to heave herself to her feet. “My apologies for startling you; I hope I didn’t scare you too much.” She offered him a gentle smile. “The jungle seemed very heavy and close for a moment, and I’m afraid my nerves simply snapped.” She sighed in place of a shrug, as if to say you know how it goes.
Before she could lift her bulk off the ground there came a haughty voice and a snarky-sounding comment, the meaning of which sailed right over Kassandra’s head. She flicked her eyes towards the striking green and black form which broke from the trees in a way which reminded her of an iridescent-shelled insect from a spider’s web. “I don’t find it too extreme,” she responded, confused, genuine, and without a hint of sarcasm, “seeing as how the dirt is everywhere. Though this jungle is everywhere, now, too, it seems.” She paused, sucking at her cheeks in thought. “What if it swallows the world?” she added, quiet and an afterthought, a stray impulsive voiceline that could not be contained.
She did, however, readily accept the fantastical-colored stallion’s assistance with standing. “I like the soil,” she admitted, coming to her feet, “it’s the only thing that keeps us grounded. And it smells normal.” She thought of those nasty, fetid long-dead-stench flowers and, in turn, her Bonded, and, in another turn, him smothering himself in the smell, and her voice sounded a bit sardonic.
“My name is Kassandra,” she said when Ipomoea prompted the new stallion for an introduction, figuring, in her limited social knowledge, this was a good time to throw all the names in the hat. “I’m quite sorry for startling you, again, but— how’ve you come to have wings on your feet?” It was to be the first of many questions.
kassandra | 621 words | @IPOMOEA @Huehuecoyotl kass asks the important stuff
