A s t a
'cause i thought i saw your soul
When you live inside a cage, you have to become adept at surviving it.
There are a variety of intricate details to take heed of, survival skills to master.
You must be the pretty bird, singing their tune, while also keeping an eye out for the cat whose waiting for the master to walk away.
I've had plenty of time to master the art of it all. Though the most adept trick to learn is awareness . . . of everything. Every little aspect, every random noise, every flash of movement. Always be watching, always be cataloging. So you'll never be caught with your back to the danger. And don't fool yourself into believing danger isn't hiding behind every corner. Because it is. I've seen it, experienced it. It's alarming just how many times life is cut short by a friend's hand holding the blade, just as it is a random stranger. War begets war, but nature begets nature. And it's in anyone's nature to be evil. Not even myself is immune. I've done terrible things in different lifetimes, in the desperate claim of survival. I've lived in kill or be killed scenarios. I've been forced to do everything I could to keep myself and others alive. And I've seen my hard work turn to dust as well.
Perhaps life is the ultimate true enemy. Or Karma? Or whatever superstition you might believe to govern your life and what happens to you.
But my lack of faith aside, I've learned to rely on no one but myself, and in the process, learned to harden my heart to another's plight. Did it make me a little cold, perhaps? But, when in the middle of winter, you don't feel that ice as much when you're already frozen in your core too. You do what you can to survive, we all do, and if fending for myself first makes me a bad guy, then you walk a few hundred lifetimes in my hooves and see if you come out of it with a different outlook on life. And if I hear one peep about 'looking for help,' you'll be seeing your next lifetime sooner than you expected. I don't need someone to talk to, to help me. I need a sure way out of this repeating cycle, a promise that the next time I hit 'Go,' I won't be handed another 200 in monopoly money and sent around the board again. I want an end-game sign in my future. That's the only help I need.
Hooves. Not just hooves. I'm pulled out of my pity-party (I'm realistic, I'm not so shallow to not deny what it was). Someone, more than one someone is coming.
Instantly I feel my spine straighten, I feel my shoulders tense, and the mask I wear in public slides down. 'Resting Bitch Face' I had heard one maid call it when she thought I wasn't paying attention (I was, I always am). A quick catalog of the steps tell me it's not a guard coming to pull me back to house Stendahl, but it doesn't help to relax my stance. If anything, I'm more odd at ease for a stranger. But a greeting is called forth, and I turn slowly, narrowing my eyes at the mare. She's taller than I am, and immediately I shift into a more defensive position should I need it. I'd had too many lives were trusting a stranger first resulted in death.
This is the first life where I'm face to face with whatever that thing is. Bones peaking out among ferns and moss.
What a fan-fucking-tabulous bouquet. Better call the shop that delivered it and ask for a refund, clearly, something went wrong.
Sure, I was stuck in a never-ending cycle, but at least I was always alive. That thing clearly not supposed to be. Even the green glow to the eyes was creeping me out. I force my gaze away from it, back up at the mare, and twist my features at her words. Another realm? I'd been through more realms than this being could probably ever imagine. Lived countless of lives through a variety of worlds, universes. Some had horses as supreme creatures, others used us as nothing more than a tool in another being's life. Some forms I took were distinctly NOT equine as well. But this time, I was of this world, and I had certainly never crossed between realms in any life that I had been in previously . . . Not that I was aware of at least.
I glance between mare and gardener's-project-gone-wrong, before snorting roughly. Crap, I'd been quiet too long.
"No."
There we go, good job, Asta. Way to be a bitch.
I don't bother apologizing for the rough tone, or one-word response, my attention had returned to the canine abomination. Mother would have a conniption if she saw it. Squealing about rabies, and disease, and who knows what else. I wonder if I can borrow it. Set it loose in the manor. Sit back and watch the chaos unfold. The clean-up after wouldn't be worth it, however. And if it became proven it was my doing . . . I didn't want to risk whatever decision my parents would make to correct my improper behavior. A lady is always supposed to behave after all.
I lose interest, turning back towards the paths in front of me, before pausing, and glancing back at the mare with the botanical monster, "You said you came through a portal? One of these ones? Or different." Huh, probably could have tried to be a bit nicer to get the information, but it did seem like a useful means to decide if walking through any of these would be a risk to my own health. While I might yearn for a more permanent death, that didn't mean I was ready to die in this life. I'd just start back over again anyways. And that was not something I was ready for.
I moved closer, stalking in front of each portal, silently taking in the scents, trying to decide which one to go through. It didn't make the decisions any easier to decide, however. If anything, it became more and more difficult with each passing moment. How do you choose which portal to enter? And how could I guarantee that I'd be able to return, as well? Or when? My eyes suddenly cut back to the mare and her odd walking plant. Maybe I could utilize a test subject.
FROM THE MOUTH
INSIDE THE MIND
@Faction
Notes:: I forgot how self-serving she can be . . . .
There are a variety of intricate details to take heed of, survival skills to master.
You must be the pretty bird, singing their tune, while also keeping an eye out for the cat whose waiting for the master to walk away.
I've had plenty of time to master the art of it all. Though the most adept trick to learn is awareness . . . of everything. Every little aspect, every random noise, every flash of movement. Always be watching, always be cataloging. So you'll never be caught with your back to the danger. And don't fool yourself into believing danger isn't hiding behind every corner. Because it is. I've seen it, experienced it. It's alarming just how many times life is cut short by a friend's hand holding the blade, just as it is a random stranger. War begets war, but nature begets nature. And it's in anyone's nature to be evil. Not even myself is immune. I've done terrible things in different lifetimes, in the desperate claim of survival. I've lived in kill or be killed scenarios. I've been forced to do everything I could to keep myself and others alive. And I've seen my hard work turn to dust as well.
Perhaps life is the ultimate true enemy. Or Karma? Or whatever superstition you might believe to govern your life and what happens to you.
But my lack of faith aside, I've learned to rely on no one but myself, and in the process, learned to harden my heart to another's plight. Did it make me a little cold, perhaps? But, when in the middle of winter, you don't feel that ice as much when you're already frozen in your core too. You do what you can to survive, we all do, and if fending for myself first makes me a bad guy, then you walk a few hundred lifetimes in my hooves and see if you come out of it with a different outlook on life. And if I hear one peep about 'looking for help,' you'll be seeing your next lifetime sooner than you expected. I don't need someone to talk to, to help me. I need a sure way out of this repeating cycle, a promise that the next time I hit 'Go,' I won't be handed another 200 in monopoly money and sent around the board again. I want an end-game sign in my future. That's the only help I need.
Hooves. Not just hooves. I'm pulled out of my pity-party (I'm realistic, I'm not so shallow to not deny what it was). Someone, more than one someone is coming.
Instantly I feel my spine straighten, I feel my shoulders tense, and the mask I wear in public slides down. 'Resting Bitch Face' I had heard one maid call it when she thought I wasn't paying attention (I was, I always am). A quick catalog of the steps tell me it's not a guard coming to pull me back to house Stendahl, but it doesn't help to relax my stance. If anything, I'm more odd at ease for a stranger. But a greeting is called forth, and I turn slowly, narrowing my eyes at the mare. She's taller than I am, and immediately I shift into a more defensive position should I need it. I'd had too many lives were trusting a stranger first resulted in death.
This is the first life where I'm face to face with whatever that thing is. Bones peaking out among ferns and moss.
What a fan-fucking-tabulous bouquet. Better call the shop that delivered it and ask for a refund, clearly, something went wrong.
Sure, I was stuck in a never-ending cycle, but at least I was always alive. That thing clearly not supposed to be. Even the green glow to the eyes was creeping me out. I force my gaze away from it, back up at the mare, and twist my features at her words. Another realm? I'd been through more realms than this being could probably ever imagine. Lived countless of lives through a variety of worlds, universes. Some had horses as supreme creatures, others used us as nothing more than a tool in another being's life. Some forms I took were distinctly NOT equine as well. But this time, I was of this world, and I had certainly never crossed between realms in any life that I had been in previously . . . Not that I was aware of at least.
I glance between mare and gardener's-project-gone-wrong, before snorting roughly. Crap, I'd been quiet too long.
"No."
There we go, good job, Asta. Way to be a bitch.
I don't bother apologizing for the rough tone, or one-word response, my attention had returned to the canine abomination. Mother would have a conniption if she saw it. Squealing about rabies, and disease, and who knows what else. I wonder if I can borrow it. Set it loose in the manor. Sit back and watch the chaos unfold. The clean-up after wouldn't be worth it, however. And if it became proven it was my doing . . . I didn't want to risk whatever decision my parents would make to correct my improper behavior. A lady is always supposed to behave after all.
I lose interest, turning back towards the paths in front of me, before pausing, and glancing back at the mare with the botanical monster, "You said you came through a portal? One of these ones? Or different." Huh, probably could have tried to be a bit nicer to get the information, but it did seem like a useful means to decide if walking through any of these would be a risk to my own health. While I might yearn for a more permanent death, that didn't mean I was ready to die in this life. I'd just start back over again anyways. And that was not something I was ready for.
I moved closer, stalking in front of each portal, silently taking in the scents, trying to decide which one to go through. It didn't make the decisions any easier to decide, however. If anything, it became more and more difficult with each passing moment. How do you choose which portal to enter? And how could I guarantee that I'd be able to return, as well? Or when? My eyes suddenly cut back to the mare and her odd walking plant. Maybe I could utilize a test subject.
FROM THE MOUTH
INSIDE THE MIND
@Faction
Notes:: I forgot how self-serving she can be . . . .
shades of jade and emerald
