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
The rose was torn between being impressed, and being annoyed by the stallion. He said good words, yes, but it still felt difficult to deem truth from potentially manipulative methods. Was he saying what he thought she wanted to hear or was he being honest? And so, she became all the more determined to narrow through his words - to determine their truth - through further communication. It was the best way to learn about another - no? She was quiet as he spoke of light casting a shadow - that without light, darkness would be permanent. Expressing his desire to understand 'what is not immediately visible to the outsider'. It was a valiant desire, but she still found herself frowning in hesitation, in the reservation. She just wasn't sure what he wanted to find, and what he hoped to uncover with it. 'What those in need desire' he states - as if the individuals were in need of something to get them out of the shadows. 'Innocents born into suffering' he called it. Did he not understand how many of them prefer those lives he made. "Stop." Her voice was quick, sharp, and decisive, as her muzzle poked into his chest, "You need to stop right there. Let me make one thing clear. Those who have been 'born into suffering' as you call it; it's rarely the suffering you imagine. Their lives may be simpler, may be with less items of value on hand, but do not assume that they need fancy things to make decisions, to not 'end in crime.' You are judging a people before you meet them by that very sentence! Do you assume that those who live in the shadows are the low lives? Are the criminals? Some may be, certainly, but do not assume that they all are criminals! That will do nothing but continue to brand yourself an outsider that no one would approach. Do not classify those you do not know, do not villianify them when you don't know the lives you lead." Her voice wasn't soft, it wasn't kind, but it was impassioned for the people she identified with in her own way, the people who had taken her into their arms and given her the attention she had craved all her life.
She would not let him speak ill about what he did not know. "Hold your judgement, Jarek; until you see for yourself what the life in the alleys really is like." He spoke then of being a from a royal family that fell. That the wealth had meant little, his world 'poorer' for it, with nothing left now but genetics and personal experience from his birth. Wandering the desert with nothing but his name." She is quiet, her gaze narrowed, watching him, "And what is it you intend to do now with yourself then Jarek? What is your real goal in wanting to learn of Solterra from me? What is it you are wanting to accomplish with this information? What is your end goal?" She asked, her guard immediately up upon learning he was a foreign royal now digging apart the workings of Solterra. Was he trying to discover what Solterra was like on all parts in preparation for an overtaking? She snorts at the thought of connections for power being corrupting, "I would hardly call the connections for power being only corrupting. Some of it is for protection. Power plays a lot in any interactions - but most of the connections being made isn't just in power of the name, but power of a company - to make new connections in combining the power of two families through a marriage alliance. It is the way of the elites in not just Solterra, but all of Novus. Your concern won't do anything to stop it. It is just the way of the life when you're born into a particular place of society."
The ability to leave the majority of the party did have a softening effect on the mare who was being her best version of her father's daughter while in public. Stepping out of the light was like her entire body seemingly settling, breathing easier. Tension was released, her steps lightening, and her green eyes turned towards him, tilting her head quietly, "But why are you collecting so many thoughts, Jarek. What is your purpose with gaining all of this knowledge. Why should anyone trust you?" She mused, but there was a softer quality to her voice, now that she no longer felt on display - watched. The truest form of Swahili emerging again, as the music soothed her in a way her ancestors would have smiled over, igniting that gypsy soul, sending fire to her blood. She swayed, she stepped, she twirled, she found herself relaxing finally, perhaps for the first time that night.
As he holds her gaze, she tilts her head as he calls himself 'no weak soul' that he wouldn't be bent by others, but also believes he is not purpose. Not wanting to be blinded by ambition. She snorts once, twirling in time with the music, the occasional snap of a hoof to the beat, "Shadows that ride the soul aren't shadows. That's darkness, and it's different. Shadows shade the eyes, to obscure the reason for pain. Shadows stain the face in displeasure. It shrouds steps of the sneaky and sly. But the ones that hover on the soul is darkness, and dangerous to health - to life. The shadow is the equal of the light. They work in balance, in steadiness. But the shadow you describe . . . that is evil, that is death. It is the smoke that clogs the lungs from the fire. It is the river waters rising above ones head, while a hoof is trapped between rocks." His dramatics had the dame roll her eyes however, before tilting her head at his question of her motives, "My motivations in life? Well, that would be telling no wouldn't it? But that's my story, and unlike some - I do not tell it freely. Just know, my soul contains a fire that will not be dimmed, and it's that fire that empassions me to anything I set my gaze towards." The gypsy would hold her cards close to her chest, least he peeks and cost her the game of life she was playing against her father.
"Speech"
Thoughts
@Jarek
Notes: :D
