be the it, girl
Mama said, fulfill the prophecy be something greater, go make a legacy, manifest destiny, back in the days we wanted everything, wanted everything. Mama said, burn your biographies, rewrite your history, light up your wildest dreams, museum victories, every day we wanted everything, wanted everything.
It’s hard for Charlie to place the expression that overtakes Marisol’s face for a quiet moment after she talks. Ah, the frown is certainly something she is familiar with, but usually it is matched with eyes filled with some sort of disgruntled expression. Usually because she’s gotten herself in the way down at the docks, or into some sort of other mess that the adults don’t find quite as charming and exciting as she does.
But the look in the Commander’s eyes is different. Almost sad.
Charlie takes a quick step forward, bumping her nose gently against the older mare’s shoulder, “Okay Commander Marisol, I will,” and she glances up with bright, sincere eyes as she continues, “But you’ll always be my number one.” The filly’s faith is so simple and innocent, her trust as boundless as her energy.
She has grown a wild girl, without the kinds of boundaries or rules that most foals might have to ensure that their hooves stay firmly planted to the ground. But she has never lacked enthusiasm or determination, nor a sense of duty or loyalty. Perhaps, roaming Novus at such a young age has made these things even more deeply rooted in her, because who is a lone girl in a big world if she doesn’t know who she is, except wandering and lost?
When Marisol flashes a smile in her direction and sweeps her wing in the direction of the barracks, Charlie turns her attention toward it. A practice weapon? Her eyes sparkle like the sun at the thought, as she pictures the weapon of her (literal) dreams. Charlie pictures herself at the helm of a ship, standing proud with the sea air blowing across her skin.
Strapped behind her shoulder, with a wooden grip and brass bolsters, smooth steel blade shining in the sun. There is no doubt in her mind, nor in her voice as she turns back to the Commander and speaks, “A sword.” Her eyes are fiercely resolute, a smile curling the corners of her lips. There is nothing in the world a budding fighter, dreaming pirate, could want more.
But the look in the Commander’s eyes is different. Almost sad.
Charlie takes a quick step forward, bumping her nose gently against the older mare’s shoulder, “Okay Commander Marisol, I will,” and she glances up with bright, sincere eyes as she continues, “But you’ll always be my number one.” The filly’s faith is so simple and innocent, her trust as boundless as her energy.
She has grown a wild girl, without the kinds of boundaries or rules that most foals might have to ensure that their hooves stay firmly planted to the ground. But she has never lacked enthusiasm or determination, nor a sense of duty or loyalty. Perhaps, roaming Novus at such a young age has made these things even more deeply rooted in her, because who is a lone girl in a big world if she doesn’t know who she is, except wandering and lost?
When Marisol flashes a smile in her direction and sweeps her wing in the direction of the barracks, Charlie turns her attention toward it. A practice weapon? Her eyes sparkle like the sun at the thought, as she pictures the weapon of her (literal) dreams. Charlie pictures herself at the helm of a ship, standing proud with the sea air blowing across her skin.
Strapped behind her shoulder, with a wooden grip and brass bolsters, smooth steel blade shining in the sun. There is no doubt in her mind, nor in her voice as she turns back to the Commander and speaks, “A sword.” Her eyes are fiercely resolute, a smile curling the corners of her lips. There is nothing in the world a budding fighter, dreaming pirate, could want more.
@Marisol <3
![[Image: 13222742_95oVYzdeR5MVhK5.png]](https://file.toyhou.se/images/13222742_95oVYzdeR5MVhK5.png)
you and i, we're pioneers
we make our own rules
