s w a h i l i
take a drunk girl home
let her sleep all alone
leave her keys on the counter
your number by the phone
pick up her life she threw on the floor
There is enough of summer left, that the sun that warmed the cream, brown and ivory body was a soothing and familiar heat. It soaked into her bones, warming her through and through. Fall was certainly coming, it was noticeable in the way they night grew cooler, earlier, but for now, the young mare was happy for what ever heat she could get. Thankfully it wasn't yet yet late enough in the evening, nor in the fall of summer that had the evening too cool. There was enough light remaining to kiss the pelt, enough light for foals to play by, for elders to relax in. It was enough of a drawn out sunset to cast impossibly long shadows, more shades to dance through.
And it was in these shades that the lithe form moved, practically dancing from dark patch to dark patch as she hummed to her own beat, less from a need to hide; and more from a comfort in being able to be over looked, ignored. It was a familiar place to be - the one no one noticed. She wasn't noticed in her own home - her father forgetting about her existence more often than not - at least until she'd done something punishment worthy - or someone had inquired about her [she feared the day someone would inquire about her for marriage].
But at least out here among the streets, among the people, she found comforts - this was no truer than when she spent her time into the alley, spiriting away through the shadowed entrance, and as soon as she slipped in to the familiar winding back streets, she was emerging from the shadows to be herself among the populace of the forgotten and unknown. Familiar greets called out to her and she smiles playful at ragged street rat foals running around her limbs, and she tossed each a few coins as they pass, gently using her muzzle to pause the youngest briefly to press a package of bread into the foal's embrace before it skirted off to follow the rest of the hoodlems.
Only then did she veer towards the stall that the half blind crone ran, eyes grey with age - unseeing, but magic proving far more adept as the knitting needles worked in the air, a lovely lace pattern emerging,
The crone snorted,
A chimera pelt, much like her own, but in far flashier of a design and colors. The last time she had seen it was when the snake who wore those colors had dismissed her so abruptly at the Spring Festival. Swahili paused, eyes almost gold in the setting sun as she stares upon the odd mare, not sure if she should acknowledge her - or keep walking. She had been quick to dismiss Swa all those moons ago after all.
Finally though, Swahili approached with slow, measured steps, "Not sure I've seen you among the alleys before. Passing ships, perhaps." The desert rose commented, her tone light, casual, neutral. But her gaze was cautious, watching for any movement that could be an attack. She just didn't know what to make of the vipress, after all.
"Speech"
Thoughts
@Fever
Notes: :D
