NO ONE KNOWS HOW TO TAKE CARE OF YOU
Tiger tail flicks side to side, a protective stance taken up behind the Pegasus as blue eyes wonder of the people milling about. Some glance at their Emissary, wondering why a gift of hers is placed upon his alter that was to be forgotten. Others hurry by, unwilling to meet those glacier eyes that simply dare them to come closer.
But one does.
People part before Boudika, bodies stepping back as the warrior hones in on the mourning girl dressed in red and starlight. They should have passed like ships in the night, unknowing of the other until a fateful collision. Or perhaps this was the collision bound to happen. No matter the circumstances or reasoning, the Champion of Community comes forth and passes by the tiger who wears a snarl. Up to the Emissary she comes, head tilted, curiosity pouring from every inch, piled into a question that hits her like a bullet.
Silence breaks. It shatters like starlight around her. Gold rises in depthless black, traveling up, up, up the refined build of a woman much stronger in physique than she. Delicately arched neck, carefully curved crown, teardrop ears, all of it is a mastery of curvature and lack of straight lines that makes up the phoenix. Aureate eyes meet red, copper, orange, all of it bathed in the shadow that floating clouds provide. Not even the fires dare reach into this little space. Here, it is a deadzone.
Dark lips part, words on the tip of her tongue, but another, sharper voice hits her. Snared, a rabbit caught in a trap, a deer in the headlights, the phoenix' thunderous gaze now moves like water, like quicksand, fighting to find and hone in upon Morrighan. Unaware. The Emissary is so unaware of the title her sister in court has gained, but even if she knew, it is doubtful that it would matter.
IF she were to have said anything contemplative, reflective, or simply something other in confidence to Boudika, the words sizzle out; dying embers left as ash upon her tongue. "Morrighan," Moira says at last. An eternity passed in those seconds of silence. She would have let it go on forever where it not for their third companion. There is a coolness to her words, a wall between the women that is quickly growing with ivy and thorns. "I am on the side of our court, of course. If you take issue with who I pay respects to and who I do not, I invite you to pay yours elsewhere." Simple is her request, and there is no love lost when she says it.
Courts of vipers were friendlier than the Emissary and the Warden. It was a misunderstanding of massive proportions that led them down this rabbit hole. Starting off on the wrong foot, and never putting forth the effort to correct it. Now, the ice that builds its castle to separate Moira and Morrighan is impressive, if not slightly concerning.
Turning from the woman on fire, the phoenix looks again to Boudika. "I don't know that we've met, I am Moira Tonnerre, could I ask after your name?" It's softer, the way she talks, the way her head tilts to the side with curiosity and inquiries again. Something thaws in a matter of moments as she passes from a façade of frozen northern plains to that of budding springtime flowers and then into a thoughtful repose.
She ignores the footsteps burned into the ground as she withdraws. Lips purse and brows draw together. Golden eyes drift to the image - the only thing upon the alter - and she wonders again and again. "Perhaps it is not mourning so much as a remembrance. Before he was a tyrant, before he was a broken man with something twisting inside, a wound that festered too long and became to raw that it bled its poison into the world, I knew Raum as a man. When he was flesh and blood and silver and I was new to these lands, he reached out a hand." Stark honesty is there, intermingled with past reflection and novel insights. "It was not warm, but it was honest. I do not think I would be here now if not for Raum. I hope he flies with his ancestors, whoever they may be."
At last, golden eyes go first to Boudika and then Morrighan. At last they rest upon Neerja, warmly finding glacial blue that could freeze oceans. "Even the mad-kings are remembered before they were mad."
But one does.
People part before Boudika, bodies stepping back as the warrior hones in on the mourning girl dressed in red and starlight. They should have passed like ships in the night, unknowing of the other until a fateful collision. Or perhaps this was the collision bound to happen. No matter the circumstances or reasoning, the Champion of Community comes forth and passes by the tiger who wears a snarl. Up to the Emissary she comes, head tilted, curiosity pouring from every inch, piled into a question that hits her like a bullet.
Silence breaks. It shatters like starlight around her. Gold rises in depthless black, traveling up, up, up the refined build of a woman much stronger in physique than she. Delicately arched neck, carefully curved crown, teardrop ears, all of it is a mastery of curvature and lack of straight lines that makes up the phoenix. Aureate eyes meet red, copper, orange, all of it bathed in the shadow that floating clouds provide. Not even the fires dare reach into this little space. Here, it is a deadzone.
Dark lips part, words on the tip of her tongue, but another, sharper voice hits her. Snared, a rabbit caught in a trap, a deer in the headlights, the phoenix' thunderous gaze now moves like water, like quicksand, fighting to find and hone in upon Morrighan. Unaware. The Emissary is so unaware of the title her sister in court has gained, but even if she knew, it is doubtful that it would matter.
IF she were to have said anything contemplative, reflective, or simply something other in confidence to Boudika, the words sizzle out; dying embers left as ash upon her tongue. "Morrighan," Moira says at last. An eternity passed in those seconds of silence. She would have let it go on forever where it not for their third companion. There is a coolness to her words, a wall between the women that is quickly growing with ivy and thorns. "I am on the side of our court, of course. If you take issue with who I pay respects to and who I do not, I invite you to pay yours elsewhere." Simple is her request, and there is no love lost when she says it.
Courts of vipers were friendlier than the Emissary and the Warden. It was a misunderstanding of massive proportions that led them down this rabbit hole. Starting off on the wrong foot, and never putting forth the effort to correct it. Now, the ice that builds its castle to separate Moira and Morrighan is impressive, if not slightly concerning.
Turning from the woman on fire, the phoenix looks again to Boudika. "I don't know that we've met, I am Moira Tonnerre, could I ask after your name?" It's softer, the way she talks, the way her head tilts to the side with curiosity and inquiries again. Something thaws in a matter of moments as she passes from a façade of frozen northern plains to that of budding springtime flowers and then into a thoughtful repose.
She ignores the footsteps burned into the ground as she withdraws. Lips purse and brows draw together. Golden eyes drift to the image - the only thing upon the alter - and she wonders again and again. "Perhaps it is not mourning so much as a remembrance. Before he was a tyrant, before he was a broken man with something twisting inside, a wound that festered too long and became to raw that it bled its poison into the world, I knew Raum as a man. When he was flesh and blood and silver and I was new to these lands, he reached out a hand." Stark honesty is there, intermingled with past reflection and novel insights. "It was not warm, but it was honest. I do not think I would be here now if not for Raum. I hope he flies with his ancestors, whoever they may be."
At last, golden eyes go first to Boudika and then Morrighan. At last they rest upon Neerja, warmly finding glacial blue that could freeze oceans. "Even the mad-kings are remembered before they were mad."
e-cho & tibet-lama | @'Boudika' @'Morrighan' @'Erasmus' | ooooh, here i was trying to keep it short pofaijsdf; <3
