asterion*
The Dusk King, too, loses track of time; there are plants that bloom and grow and wither and die, storms that rise from the soil like a soaking rain in reverse, and somewhere over the island the sun is standing still.
Now he is clear of what remains of the grasses and weeds (though he remembers the feeling of them, wound around his legs, crawling up toward his throat), his body slick with water, and he looks up to find Ipomoea racing toward him. Even as he falters, even as his steps stutter and lengthen again, Asterion thinks no time. The use of so much of his magic over the last days is taking its toll; his cells seem to be sighing, begging for rest. Not yet.
Each of the appaloosa’s steps is throwing up a spray of water and mud, but the bay can still feel the reverberations of them through the soil. The instinctive part of his mind urges him to run, but the ground is slick, a tangle of weeds and water, and the king only squares his shoulders and lowers his head. There are seconds between them now, and his heartbeat tolls like a bell as he waits for impact.
But above him, Cirrus is falling like a star.
The big gull does not wait; her wailing cries had gone unheard as her bonded struggled out from vines and flowers and the man in cherry-red began to run. Now she plummets like a hawk, eyes vivid-bright against the black of her head, pale wings tucked with their edges tipped in black like a Halcyon cadet. Closer and closer grows Ipomoea to her king, and closer and closer she dives for Ipomoea; as Asterion turns to face him (noble fool) she hears nothing but the wind whistling in her ears as the ground rushes up to meet her. And then!
With the precision of an osprey diving for fish she pulls out of the dive, flapping her five-foot wingspan and screaming in the painted man’s face.
Asterion’s heart is caught in his throat to see his bonded plunge down and down and down. Or maybe it is there, with her, for it seems to him he can hear the roar of wind in his ears (or maybe it is only the sound of blood, rushing through). He wants to cry Don’t!, wants to look away from what carnage will occur, but he cannot look away from their impact.
The collision never comes. As the ground shakes below his feet with Ipomoea’s hoofbeats, as he stands like a fool in his path, Cirrus spreads her wings and cries out in a voice that is terrible, rough-throated - but she stays out of the path of the other man. Only a distraction, not a sacrifice. Surely the appaloosa will shy away from the eagle-sized gull now making herself a nuisance around his head (or at least startle and readjust), but whether or not he does Asterion, at least, comes to his senses, lunging out the path of the oncoming stallion. He is spattered with mud and water and torn-up vegetation, but unscathed, escaped.
When Cirrus soars up again and away, the king can feel the dirty look she shoots him. Taut with adrenaline and fatigue, all the bay can do is laugh.
As he crosses to Po, that first hardness is gone from his dark eyes. There is concern, and wariness, and a kind of warmth - but a part of him wonders if it had been enough, that taste of battle. Little skin, little blood, few bruises; would it be enough, when the time came?
It will, thinks Cirrus, once again nothing more than white shape in a blue sky. Because it’s not only bodies. It’s magic, and love.
He does not quite smile, when he approaches the other man and slows to a stop. But his eyes are regaining their gleam when he says “That’s quite a gift you have.”
@Ipomoea
Summary: Asterion is standing there like a dummy when Cirrus decides to intervene; she plummets and then opens her wings and makes a racket right next to Po's head as he's charging (theoretically) throwing him off course. Regardless, her actions are a wake-up call to Asterion, who lunges out of the way, using a block to avoid impact.
Attack Used: 2
Attack(s) Left: 0
Block Used: 1 (using cirrus)
Block(s) Left: 0
Item(s) Used: NA
Response Deadline: n/a? since it's closer? flexible otherwise <3
Tags: @Ipomoea, @Sid, @inkbone, @Sparrow, @nestle, @
