three two one count it down
swim or drown
Atlas was touched by the fact that Kibou was willing to go to such ends to ensure he had the best party experience. It made him feel just a bit lighter, that all the evil and darkness in this world hadn’t stolen everything from the youth of the next generation. He looked at Kibou and smiled and felt warmed by his brightness and energy, and when he tried to imagine the colt sitting balcony-side above a Zukai bloodsport match he drew a blank. His mind replaced Kibou with an image of his younger self and his stomach squeezed.
His mind reeled as he struggled to keep himself grounded; oddly enough, he found himself thinking back to a game he and Nathely would play during the frigid, desert nights, where they’d look out at the same landscape, shaped and shadowed by moonlight and twisting, blowing sands, and describe the differences each of them saw. Atlas employed that tactic here, following Kibou: the sand on the Denoctian beach was softer, more pillowy under his hooves; the air was balmy and salt-rich instead of dry and harsh; it was humid and warm and not oppressively hot and desiccated.
He was shocked back to his senses as he watched the little simian, Saki, plunge her heel into Kibou’s flesh and Atlas was startled for a moment; but the colt and monkey exchanged a glance and a bashful smile crept across Kibou’s face. He gleefully crowed about what his mother had taught him and the monkey pressed her face into her palm in loving exasperation. Atlas smiled. “And she’s right. Always try and be kind, even when the world is not.” And may you never know it then, he thought, but left that part unspoken. “Your mother seems like a wise woman to raise such a fine boy,” he added, hoping to brighten the conversation back up.
Atlas laughed at Kibou’s admission of his inability to be quiet. “You’re young yet. You have time to learn many things still-- and time to teach, as well.” He winked at Saki; she seemed to be a large part of Kibou’s tutelage, and he hoped he wasn’t stepping on any toes.
The ground beneath them firmed and turned to beach and lyme grass; the sand became darker, uneven, and humped into hillocks where the tide would push and shape it. Around them, willowy boots decked in seaweed, decorative nets, and shells in all shapes and colors housed vendors hawking their goods. Atlas stuck close to Kibou in the crowd, making sure not to lose his guide in the evening bustle.
Eventually, Kibou paused at a stall and addressed the proprietor; Atlas smiled at the colt’s confidence until the attention was turned to him. He balked, uncertain, and he worked his jaw as his mind flew. What did he know of ice-cream flavors? What did he know of anything at all? Is… is coconut… not a flavor? He thought, eyes widening and shifting side to side. What had he eaten, way back when? His mind churned to think of something but any thought of his once endorsed luxuries had turned to dirt in his memory.
“Just… plain?” he finally offered, barely louder than a whisper, pleading eyes looking to Kibou for assistance and not feeling the least bit ashamed of it.
His mind reeled as he struggled to keep himself grounded; oddly enough, he found himself thinking back to a game he and Nathely would play during the frigid, desert nights, where they’d look out at the same landscape, shaped and shadowed by moonlight and twisting, blowing sands, and describe the differences each of them saw. Atlas employed that tactic here, following Kibou: the sand on the Denoctian beach was softer, more pillowy under his hooves; the air was balmy and salt-rich instead of dry and harsh; it was humid and warm and not oppressively hot and desiccated.
He was shocked back to his senses as he watched the little simian, Saki, plunge her heel into Kibou’s flesh and Atlas was startled for a moment; but the colt and monkey exchanged a glance and a bashful smile crept across Kibou’s face. He gleefully crowed about what his mother had taught him and the monkey pressed her face into her palm in loving exasperation. Atlas smiled. “And she’s right. Always try and be kind, even when the world is not.” And may you never know it then, he thought, but left that part unspoken. “Your mother seems like a wise woman to raise such a fine boy,” he added, hoping to brighten the conversation back up.
Atlas laughed at Kibou’s admission of his inability to be quiet. “You’re young yet. You have time to learn many things still-- and time to teach, as well.” He winked at Saki; she seemed to be a large part of Kibou’s tutelage, and he hoped he wasn’t stepping on any toes.
The ground beneath them firmed and turned to beach and lyme grass; the sand became darker, uneven, and humped into hillocks where the tide would push and shape it. Around them, willowy boots decked in seaweed, decorative nets, and shells in all shapes and colors housed vendors hawking their goods. Atlas stuck close to Kibou in the crowd, making sure not to lose his guide in the evening bustle.
Eventually, Kibou paused at a stall and addressed the proprietor; Atlas smiled at the colt’s confidence until the attention was turned to him. He balked, uncertain, and he worked his jaw as his mind flew. What did he know of ice-cream flavors? What did he know of anything at all? Is… is coconut… not a flavor? He thought, eyes widening and shifting side to side. What had he eaten, way back when? His mind churned to think of something but any thought of his once endorsed luxuries had turned to dirt in his memory.
“Just… plain?” he finally offered, barely louder than a whisper, pleading eyes looking to Kibou for assistance and not feeling the least bit ashamed of it.
SPEECH ! @Kibou
