[AW] In Our Nature

[Eik]

art by Sid

"I don't want to remember more now that I remember so much" At first, the tables seemed about to collapse on themselves from the weight of all that punch. At first, he walks the halls without adornment. No mask to hide his grey-tipped face, no silks to cover his scars. He takes a drink (it is the same blue as Isra's eyes) and moves on surprisingly light feet, ghost-like, from room to room. The court is nearly beyond recognition- you would have had to seen the water marks before to recognize them now, camouflaged by paint or smoke or the light reflected off floating orbs of water. In one room the tables are on the ceiling, covered in decadent food perpetually out of reach. He returns to the front and takes another drink (it is the color of the Mors at sunset). He moves quickly through a room filled with music so sad it draws tears to his dark eyes, and slowly through a room filled with music that almost makes him feel like he knows how to dance. He takes another drink (it is violet, just violet) and a stranger drags a line of gold paint down the center of his face and it tickles, so he laughs. He enters a room that is illuminated by a beautiful golden light that hangs in the center like a small, gentle sun. It is full of pillows of different shapes and sizes, and the heavy feel to the room reminds him of the opium den. Horses sleep together with childlike smiles on their faces and he almost joins them-- almost. But first, another drink. It is the grey-green of the fields of his youth. ("She's here. She's here!" the shadows whisper, and they melt as soon as he turns to face them) The sleeping room is forgotten when he feels with sudden conviction that the night queen is close. This time he crookedly pours a drink into a cup-- to share with Isra-- and walks off sideways in search of her. He doesn't feel drunk at all, but judging by the fuzz on the edge of everything, he must be. "I remember everything but I don't want to remember"

Open to anyone!

[Sloane]

She can never be confined to her own court. Her court means nothing to her, or at least she has nothing she feels like she needs to live by. In her heart, she has no king, no court, no need to make herself being a part of something that she is not. It is almost as if her court does not fit the beliefs she feels inside. She feels like a loner, like an outsider. And so, she travels to another, to see if she can find the knowledge she seeks.

What she comes upon is a party, something she admittedly has never attended before. While some are drawn to it, she is cautious and careful. She steps into the first room and she is met with the vision of never-ending tables, all filled with masks of every size, shape, and color. She settles on a mask that appears as a skull. It settles precisely over her own, a near perfect fit. It’s not covered in gold or bright colors, it’s plane. But it is perfect.

She passes by the tables of punches, her nose sniffing each and every one of them. They smell strange and something within her tells her that she should not drink the punch, no matter how much her parched throat might long for it. Instead she keeps walking, entering each room and observing them all.

But something catches her attention, something comes towards her. It’s the figure of another holding some punch. He looks a little off, perhaps he’s had a few too many drinks of the punch. Perhaps it was a good thing she chose not to drink the Kool-Aid. But he is now too close and she zips her head towards him, her words hiss from her lips in warning. “Watch where you’re walking. I have no intention of moving.” She’s standing there watching some sort of entertainment when he nearly touches her. Sloane is not one to be touched at all, so it’s no surprise she is alarmed by his close proximity.

@Eik

[Eik]

art by Sid

"And we who seek to balance pleasure and pain We blow against the wind and spit against the rain" It wasn't that long ago when everything in Novus seemed strange to him. The magic, the telepathy, the parties. It was overwhelming at first and almost vulgar, the decadence of it all. He still sometimes feels out of place at these events, bumping shoulders with strangers instead of swinging fists. They remind him of how humble his origins are. Maybe that is why he turns to drink, perhaps too heavily, until the past doesn't weigh him down so much and the crowds don't feel quite so crowded. The masquerade is almost too beautiful to comprehend, especially after a few of those strange drinks. He's winding through rooms at a slow pace, looking for Isra with one eye and admiring her creations with the other. It is no surprise that he nearly runs into someone, as distracted as he is. "Sorry!" He takes a step back that nearly sends a huge vase crashing to the ground. Eik steps forward again, away from the fragile decor, this time careful not to bump into the black mare. He ducks his head sheepishly, feeling the angry glare of strangers on his back. "Would you like this?" He offers her the goblet half-full of something bubbly and blue. "I think I've had enough for now. It's good though." The gesture is part peace offering, part genuine desire to rid himself of the drink before it disappears into his stomach. "For what could be more real than sweat and dust and sun? And what more sure than night and death and sleep?"

@Sloane

[Sloane]

She cannot believe that this male was so careless! He was too busy drinking his beverage or looking at the many things around them to see that she was standing here, minding her own damn business. She was bothering no one and she certainly wasn’t in the way. She wasn’t quite on the dance floor but she was far enough away to not get run over, or so she thought.

Eyes looked at him, almost staring straight through him. Sloane had never been a people person, so it was no surprise that her ability to engage in social situations could be in need of practice. However, in order to get better, she actually had to engage with others…and that wasn’t something she liked to do. Oh well. She would simply be that grouchy bitch at the party – there seemed to always be one of those.

He seems genuinely sorry that he nearly bumped into her. “So he should be…” The thought had crossed her mind as she watches him nearly run over the vase in his attempt to not hit her. She eyes the vase and for a moment, she wishes it would have crashed to the floor. She is unsure why, though, because that would attract unnecessary attention in their direction and Sloane was always one to avoid attention on her.

He steps closer to her, offering her the cup he had been sipping from. She wants to curl her lip in a sneer, to let him know that she does not like drinking after someone else – especially a stranger. But she is trying not to be a super bitch tonight, so she says nothing about the fact that she does not swap spit with strangers. “Perhaps you’ve had too much.” In her time watching others tonight, she had seen how many had drank the punch and began to do silly things. Sloane has no experience with spiked drinks, but she can tell that they make others lose their inhibitions – doing and saying things they may not normally would have done or said. “What is it?” She’s genuinely curious about what exactly is in the cup. What about it makes people act so strange. Could she use it against her enemies? What purpose did it have? These were the questions that Sloane has…always needing to know everyone’s secrets.

@Eik

[Eik]

art by Sid

"And we who seek to balance pleasure and pain We blow against the wind and spit against the rain" It is perhaps unfortunate for Sloane that Eik does not use his magic tonight. If he knew the sheer effort that she was putting into being polite, he would move on quickly. It is not in his nature to inconvenience others, even in his inebriated state. As it is, he feels he ought to make up for nearly crashing into her. Besides, he has the sinking suspicion that he and Isra are circling the court looking for each other, and perhaps it is wiser to stay in one place and let himself be found. "Perhaps you've had too much," she says and he blinks, asking his body "have I had too much?" to which the response is a slow but giddy, stupefied "maybe, Eik. You're talking to me". Before he can ponder this, Sloane asks what the drink is, to which he is a little dumbfounded. There had been no one at the table to tell him. "Mmm... something like blueberry. Salt. Lavender. Alcohol." He squints at it in thought. "I think something magical too. Like this place." He grins suddenly, bright as a puppy. "Makes everything sound better, feel better." Eik is certainly not always like this. Distracted, clumsy... light somehow, like all his troubles lie on the other side of a thin veil. He can see the shape of them but not the details, not their teeth. And even if he were to reach out he could not touch them-- all he would feel would be something like linen and maybe, behind it, maybe the warmth of a fire that aches in anticipation of the bellows, of re-ignition. Part of it is the alcohol, sure, but there's something else, something that makes him feel like swaying, like moving. He is keenly aware of the music that fills the room, of the way the beat undulates like tall grass in the wind. "She's good, isn't she." His eyes rest on the singer, a chestnut with a small white snip and eyes that look right into your soul. When they turn back to the draft mare beside him, he offers her the cup once more. "I'm Eik. So how about it?" "For what could be more real than sweat and dust and sun? And what more sure than night and death and sleep?"

@Sloane

[Sloane]

Sloane is a hard one to get to know, she has very few friends and she certainly isn’t one who makes them very easily. Sloane has always been an outsider, ever since she exited her mother’s womb she’s been on her own. No one has ever paid her any kindness, so she only sees it fitting that no one else be shown kindness either. Perhaps it is not the best way to live as it leaves her alone and bored much of her life. But what choice did she have? The world didn’t owe her a damn thing, so why would she do a simple kindness for the world?

She asks him what is in his cup as he offers it to her. She leans forward, letting her nose breathe in the contents. It burns her trachea and if she could curl her nose up at it, she would. It smelt harsh and she had a feeling it probably tasted much the same. His answer to her question was confirmation of that. It didn’t sound like a combination she might be willing to try.

He continues on, saying that the drink is magical and makes everything sound and feel better. She simply looks at him, curious if that was a feeling that she wanted to feel. If she were honest with herself, there had been times where she wished she could simply feel numb to the world, as though nothing bothered her. But then there was a part of her that feared that feeling. She might make a fool of herself and that was simply unacceptable.

Sloane is still weighing her options about drinking the mysterious drink when he makes a comment about someone being good. She’s only confused for a moment before she listens to the music playing in the background, the singer who’s demanding their attention. Eyes rest on the chestnut mare who’s voice is filling the hall. If she had been raised with even an ounce of love, she might have thought the singer beautiful. But unfortunately, Sloane had not been raised in such a loving environment. Anything that might seem good was only seen as nails on a chalkboard to her. “I suppose, if you actually liked and enjoyed singing.” Sloane was not a singer. Never was and most certainly never would be. She was the loner that no one really wanted to get to know. That was all her fault, mind you, but she didn’t care.

It was his second set of words that got her attention, her eyes resting on the half-full cup of alcohol. She pondered his offer to take a cup, her pondering probably taking far too long than socially acceptable. “Perhaps it’s best I didn’t.” She doesn’t necessarily mean to come off as rude, but she’s sure it does. “I don’t know if I want to turn into a blundering fool.” She pauses for a moment, an unnecessary pause. “Plus, you could have germs.” Sloane was not about to let herself get sick. She took great strides to maintain her health and she was not about to blow her carefulness for some cheap alcohol that could really be poison. “Or you might even poison me.” Sloane was never one to trust easily. Not everyone was out to try to kill her. Perhaps she should try to work on her people skills. Then again, this was just easier.

@Eik

[Eik]

art by Sid

"And we who seek to balance pleasure and pain We blow against the wind and spit against the rain" The cruelty of the world has carved stories into his skin. It has left him with scars, some tiny and some huge, scattered across his body like constellations. Still-- and he has only realized this recently-- still he has hope. From this hope comes kindness, and it comes gentleness, and he tells himself that this, too, is a strength, even when it feels like it isn't. Eik can't quite get a grasp of Sloane. Maybe his magic would help, but he feels too inebriated to use it properly. Anyway, a stubborn part of him wants to think that he can still be plain-- not an emissary, not a magician, not ablaze with love. "Oh, I don't," he says quickly in response to "I suppose, if you actually liked and enjoyed singing." He laughs quietly at how nonsensical the statement is, even though it makes sense to him. He hiccups, too. He simply shrugs as she declines his offer. He can respect her caution, although he thinks she might be suggesting he's the blundering fool, and he does not know what germs are, and "Poison?" He snorts, incredulous. "'nly a coward uses poison." His voice, normally calm, is made animate by liquor. Despite his drunkenness, the wise man in him bites his tongue before he can say what he's thinking- "If I wanted to kill you I'd do it with my hooves, not a drink." His soul is a song of mourning, sad and sweet-- until it isn't. He wonders... What is this woman doing here? It isn't the song, or drink... it can't be his ass-ish company. She reminds him of himself, really, before Novus sank its teeth in. His first festival, where he hovered on the outskirts, a boy who did not know if he was welcome. She doesn't belong here. Neither does he, not really. But here they stand. "For what could be more real than sweat and dust and sun? And what more sure than night and death and sleep?"

@Sloane

[Sloane]

Poison - sure, it was a coward’s way to kill another. And yet, Sloane rather liked the idea of poison. It wasn’t because she was a coward either. Poison was more subtle and easy to administer unprotected. If she was always killing people face to face, then they would know she was coming and what she was planning to do. At least with poison, she could kill and kill again and never be caught. It seemed logical and far less messy. “Or those wanting to stay beneath a veil of innocence. I have seen many a great assassin use poison so they can slip in and slip out undetected. It’s how they remain anonymous.” She had seen it time and time again. Perhaps they could just agree to disagree on how one should kill another.

She sighs as she looks out at the party, unsure of her true purpose here. She supposed she came to spy on others, to gain intel that she might be able to sell later to the highest bidder. But so far, all she had found was a bunch of drunk individuals that couldn’t walk or talk straight. She shook her head lightly, no, this was definitely not the place to be.

She turns briefly to look at the other, her eyes catching his for only the briefest of moments. “This place is positively boring.” The music was already beginning to sound like nails on a chalkboard. And without any sort of proper goodbye, Sloane walkd away from the crowd and towards the exit. This was not the place for her.

@Eik - closing this one too, Sloane is not a social butterfly D:

[Eik]

art by Sid

"And we who seek to balance pleasure and pain We blow against the wind and spit against the rain" The music calls to him with increasing insistency. The mare seems to defend the use of poison, which is all the more baffling to him. He wonders if she's a princess or someone of importance, someone whose sudden death would be wanted even at an event of peace, but if she is he doubts she'd say so just because he asked. So he does not ask, he simply wonders. He finds his body swaying subtly with the music, and just when he's about to ask her another question that will undoubtedly offend her, she leaves. Their odd encounter, more a polite argument than a conversation, is over soon after it begins. Eik watches the pied mare leave with an expression that is part confusion and part relief. He feels drained after their bout of misunderstandings, but still the music calls. "Huh," he says to himself, and without thinking much more about it he slips closer to the source of the music he finds himself swaying to. Eik has never danced before, but with the plain white mask to hide his features and the strange drink thick in his blood, he learns. "For what could be more real than sweat and dust and sun? And what more sure than night and death and sleep?"

@Sloane <3