Fang
“No need to apologize, either of you,” he reassures the blue mare with a small grin, the fire of his eyes following the gleaming sphere of light as it (she?) whirls around him in what he can only assume is excitement. Caelum explains the orb’s curious energy, and the boy can’t help but tilt his head in interest. “I wasn’t alarmed—startled, perhaps—but I will admit, I am curious…I have yet to see the likes of Tiana before. What is she, exactly? A ‘Morgan,’ you called her? I have never seen one before,” he looks to Tiana with a crooked grin, unaware of his error in understanding—after all, how could he know that this ruby light was ever a person?
He turns then, following Caelum inside her shop, trying to shed his grief from his shoulders like one would shed a coat (if the coat was made of iron, and molded to his shoulders until it is no longer a simple coat, but as much a part of him as his heart or lungs).
She encourages him to live for today, instead of bothering himself with tomorrow’s uncertainties, and the red stallion has to glance away for a moment to hide how his brow furrows. What am I supposed to do when I can’t stop worrying about yesterday? There is an instant when the agony returns, etched into every line of his expression, when the weight of loss makes his chest feels tight and it is hard to breathe. He inhales slowly through his nose, a shuddering sound, before he clears his throat and turns back to his host, his paper-thin façade straining.
Shuffling his large hooves to avoid crushing a flower, Fang takes note of the sudden tension in her voice when she mentions the blossoms that follow her hooves. He remembers what she said when showing him the Night Court, how her magic is a final gift from her parents (“A reminder of what I could not be”), and so in an effort to ease whatever anguish shadows her now, he simply looks them over, and grins. “I like it. I like it a lot,” there is a low hum in his tone, wistful and genuine. “Of course, I’ve always had an affinity for plants—I used to be able to manipulate them, you know, and speak to them. With my magic,” he chuckles breathlessly. Caught up in the bliss of memories, the boy almost goes to demonstrate, to show her what beautiful power Vasanta had blessed him with, but that muscle is no longer attached to anything. Those ethereal ties had burned and vanished with his goddess, his home, his companion…
His everything.
Forcing himself to remain rooted in the present and not get swept away in despair, the boy clings to Caelum’s delight when she brightens at his praise. The twinkling of her joy is contagious, and he is happy to be treated by her expertise. Lowering himself to rest among a plush heap of pillows, he listens as she explains the dangerous nature of her people’s food, and how it can enslave the mortals with its enchanted ingredients (I was not always mortal, once…)
He forces a smirk.
“That is interesting. I didn’t know the fae people were so crafty,” one side of his brow rises in mock suspicion, though his ember eyes brighten playfully. It is a pleasure to watch the blue mare in her element, flitting about the back of her shop as she prepares tea and pastries. He is impressed with the array she presents him. “It all smells delicious—you really do this all yourself?” He licks at a raspberry tart before setting it aside, eager to taste the tea she’s prepared. Sipping gently at the hot drink, he immediately appreciates the blend of earthy and sweet that washes over his tongue. “Mmm. I am no connoisseur of tea, but wow that is good. You certainly know your flavors. How you’re not constantly swarming with guests, I’ll never know,” Fang laughs, more hearty now, as he feels the comforting warmth of the tea seep from his belly to his bones.
tag; @Caelum
“…”
He turns then, following Caelum inside her shop, trying to shed his grief from his shoulders like one would shed a coat (if the coat was made of iron, and molded to his shoulders until it is no longer a simple coat, but as much a part of him as his heart or lungs).
She encourages him to live for today, instead of bothering himself with tomorrow’s uncertainties, and the red stallion has to glance away for a moment to hide how his brow furrows. What am I supposed to do when I can’t stop worrying about yesterday? There is an instant when the agony returns, etched into every line of his expression, when the weight of loss makes his chest feels tight and it is hard to breathe. He inhales slowly through his nose, a shuddering sound, before he clears his throat and turns back to his host, his paper-thin façade straining.
Shuffling his large hooves to avoid crushing a flower, Fang takes note of the sudden tension in her voice when she mentions the blossoms that follow her hooves. He remembers what she said when showing him the Night Court, how her magic is a final gift from her parents (“A reminder of what I could not be”), and so in an effort to ease whatever anguish shadows her now, he simply looks them over, and grins. “I like it. I like it a lot,” there is a low hum in his tone, wistful and genuine. “Of course, I’ve always had an affinity for plants—I used to be able to manipulate them, you know, and speak to them. With my magic,” he chuckles breathlessly. Caught up in the bliss of memories, the boy almost goes to demonstrate, to show her what beautiful power Vasanta had blessed him with, but that muscle is no longer attached to anything. Those ethereal ties had burned and vanished with his goddess, his home, his companion…
His everything.
Forcing himself to remain rooted in the present and not get swept away in despair, the boy clings to Caelum’s delight when she brightens at his praise. The twinkling of her joy is contagious, and he is happy to be treated by her expertise. Lowering himself to rest among a plush heap of pillows, he listens as she explains the dangerous nature of her people’s food, and how it can enslave the mortals with its enchanted ingredients (I was not always mortal, once…)
He forces a smirk.
“That is interesting. I didn’t know the fae people were so crafty,” one side of his brow rises in mock suspicion, though his ember eyes brighten playfully. It is a pleasure to watch the blue mare in her element, flitting about the back of her shop as she prepares tea and pastries. He is impressed with the array she presents him. “It all smells delicious—you really do this all yourself?” He licks at a raspberry tart before setting it aside, eager to taste the tea she’s prepared. Sipping gently at the hot drink, he immediately appreciates the blend of earthy and sweet that washes over his tongue. “Mmm. I am no connoisseur of tea, but wow that is good. You certainly know your flavors. How you’re not constantly swarming with guests, I’ll never know,” Fang laughs, more hearty now, as he feels the comforting warmth of the tea seep from his belly to his bones.
tag; @Caelum
“…”
Lost boys like me
are free.
are free.
please tag Fang in all replies; magic and force are permitted
