[P] [TW] i cry out but nothing comes now

[Sloane]

The river. It’s a place the mare has never seen before and yet, she can sense that she should be afraid of it. The way the water moves swiftly is an invitation for jumpers, for those that want to end their lives before they can even begin. But Sloane is somewhat soothed by this feeling. It’s an invitation she has so often received and never really entertained.

But here, as she stands at the very edge of a rocky cliff, her eyes peer down at the rushing water. It’s so easy to think just one small step forward and she could be out of this hell for good. One small step can end the suffering she doesn’t like to admit that she has.

Her whole life she has always tried to be the strong, brave one. The one who fears nothing and no one all the same. But it’s in this moment that she allows mortality to settle upon her thoughts. She allows herself to feel just how lonely she is. This life has not been easy for Sloane. Fighting from the start to be accepted and taken seriously has taken its toll on the female. She’s tired of fighting. For once, she dares to hope that one think might be given to her.

And yet, she does not take that step forward. She cannot appear as a coward, though she might hate the world she lives in. Sloane thinks too much of her pride and her appearance to simply give up that easily. She refuses to be labeled a coward. She has fought too hard in this life for such labels. She deserves a better label like fearless or desirable.

It’s while her brain is sifting through these thoughts and emotions that she hears the click of a rock behind her. Someone has kicked a pebble and she hears it race along the rocky ledge. She does not address the stranger. The only indication that she has heard the individual is the way her ears flick back towards the sound. Eyes still peer down at the river. What does this stranger want? Do they not know it is rude to interrupt private reflection?

@Ipomoea

[Ipomoea]

rose-colored boy

Perhaps it’s his youthful naivety that lets Po wander where he wants without harboring fear for the unknown. There’s a faith in him, an unexplained confidence in his own invincibility, a certainty that no one would attempt nor want to harm him. His world was filled to the brim with sunshine and flowers; wherever he went, they too seemed to follow. 

It was an unspoken rule, or so he once seemed to think. Perhaps one day it would be this false faith of his that would come crumbling down in the worst of ways.

Today though, after all the events that had torn the world of Novus apart and left a gaping wound in their wake — he was simply numb. His mind was quiet; it hurt too much to think lately.

Flowers filled his footsteps, stems and blades of grass bursting to life at his touch, petals unfurling and reaching for the sky when his hoof lifted. Each step left a patch of life in its wake, a trail of daisies and dandelions and other wildflowers. He hardly noticed; only a few months ago he would have delighted in the magic, would have cantered happily through a field just to watch the flowers bloom, and perhaps he would again tomorrow. But not today.

Eventually the ground underhoof turns to stone, and the magic flowing from Ipomoea like water is brought to a halt. The rock rings out with every step, accentuating the roaring of the river below.

He walks along side it for some time, kicking at loose rocks he comes upon so they skip over the stone before tumbling into the water below. Only the presence of another horse is enough to wake his sleepy mind, forcing him to end his monotonous trodding. He lifts his head, and his gait seems a touch livelier, like he’s coming alive again.

“Hello,” he calls out, his voice drifting across the stone and water towards her. “I hope I’m not disturbing you?”

He had a gift for intruding, it would seem. But perhaps it would do them both some good to have the company today, despite how unwelcome it might be at first.

hearts are breaking
wars are raging on
you’ve got me nervous
i’m at the end of my rope
hey, man, we can’t all be like you

i wish we were all rose-colored too
my rose-colored boy




@Sloane ! heck finally
I am ready to start this thread in earnest and meet sloane
I promise you will not wait 3 months for the next reply lmao
”here am i!“

empluvie art

[Sloane]

As he speaks, she can feel the way her ears (previously poised to listen for the sounds he’s making) flatten against her skull. To say she is annoyed would be an understatement. Here she was, silently reflecting about what it might feel like to finally lose herself over the edge of this very cliff. While she would never end her life in such a manner, she did entertain the idea from time to time. It seemed like a reasonable use of time. After all, what else would she do here? She had no friends, no real meaningful relationships in this placed. She was a nobody. No body bought and sold secrets like from where she had come from. Finding her niche in this new world was proving more difficult than she had originally thought.

His voice is soft, almost angelic, and it makes Sloane want to roll her eyes. She wishes she knew how he could sound so happy all the time. She was rarely happy. He says he hopes he’s not disturbing her, but she knows that they both know he was. He was interrupting silent reflection. “I was only self-loathing and self-reflecting.” Unlike his voice, hers was gruff and short. While she did not appear agitated, there was an annoyed undertone that he may perhaps pick up on. She emphasized the word “self” to let him know that this was her time, a time for her to come to grips with her own reality…a reality she didn’t need his help finding.

And yet, as Sloane turned to look at the approaching stallion, Sloane knew that this stranger was no stranger at all. While she hadn’t formally met him, she had seem him around Delumine before. In fact, if her memory served her correctly (which it usually did), he was high ranking. Perhaps she should be a little nicer. After all, she didn’t want her little private island taken away from her. “…but I suppose I could entertain company.” Entertaining was never something that she had been good at, but she supposed now was as good a time as any. “…do you think it hurts?” Eyes looked back down over the cliff, her thoughts wandering about the fall. She supposed it would hurt, with all the jagged rocks below, but perhaps whoever fell over the edge would die instantly. Most would want a painless death.

@Ipomoea

[Ipomoea]

rose-colored boy

Most of the spotted boy’s life had been spent in sweet, sweet spring: he was a winter child, true, but that first winter was always the first to be forgotten. The spring that followed was the brightest, the calmest; every breeze whispered new secrets, every blade of grass told a new story. The world was a peaceful thing then, and every discovery was new and exciting.

For Ipomoea, that first spring had never ended; sure the days had grown short again, and the nights longer, but he had never lost that naive hope. Even as he turned five, his youth was as bright and innocent as the day he had been born.

Perhaps it was a good thing, to always be the optimist in the group. Or perhaps it was merely an annoyance to others, tolerated at best. But Po was a child of spring through and through, and even the frowns of others couldn’t shake his daydreams.

”I was only self-loathing and self-reflecting,” she answers him, her tone biting, and he has the good sense to stop short. Empty air fills the space between them, and his ears cock forward uncertainly. For a brief pause, he is silent, mulling over her words and the way she emphasized “self”.

But something in her voice kept him from turning away, suggesting that perhaps she didn’t want to be as alone as she claimed (even if she didn’t yet know it.) And before Po can come up with an adequate response, she’s speaking again. Only this time, she’s accepting his company, albeit grudgingly. He smiles encouragingly at her and takes a few quick, nervous steps closer.

”Do you think it hurts?” his eyes follow hers to the cliff edge, but it’s difficult for him to find an answer. He can’t imagine what it would be like to throw himself over the edge, or even come up with a reason why he might like to. The jagged rocks below paint a gruesome picture in his head, and he looks away quickly.

“I imagine it would,” he says slowly. “But the time in between leaving the cliff and…” he pauses here, and cringes, “…hitting the ground, might be the worst part.”

It seems like such a long way down; plenty of time to realize death was only a few feet away. His wings flutter nervously at his ankles, as if they are imagining the fall already, and already know they would be useless to help.

His eyes move slowly back to the black and red-stained mare. ”But who can really say for sure?”

hearts are breaking
wars are raging on
you’ve got me nervous
i’m at the end of my rope
hey, man, we can’t all be like you

i wish we were all rose-colored too
my rose-colored boy




@Sloane !
”here am i!“

empluvie art

[Sloane]

While Sloane had never been suicidal, she had seen many who were. She had seen the way some would launch themselves over a cliff, heard the way their bodies slammed against the jagged rocks on the way down. She never understood why someone might want to take the easy way out, to end a life before it could really even begin. Sloane may be strange, anti-social, and illusive, but one thing that she would never be was suicidal. Such an idea was seen as cowardness and a coward she was not.

She can hear the way his steps come closer and her ears track his movement. She was not a fan of close contact, so she made sure that he was not getting too close to her. She might be tolerating of company right now, but that did not mean that she wanted to waltz hand-in-hand at sunset with him. She had to work up to such things and honestly, she wasn’t sure if she would ever trust someone enough to let them close enough to touch her.

However, he does seem to want to participate in the conversation that she had chosen, although grim as it was. She supposed he was right, that it would hurt. She supposed it might be painless if the individual landing in such a way to snap a neck or bash a skull in. Perhaps then it would be a painless death. But really, what death was painless? “Some say that time is freeing…as if they left all their cares on the edge and just freed themselves from all the things tying them down.” She had once stood by another who had thrown himself over a cliff. He wanted to feel free of everything. He said that in that moment he might get a chance to true feel as though he had let go of everything. For him, it had been worth his untimely death.

But it was his question about who could really say for sure if the drop would hurt that has her head slowly turning towards him. She is unsure of what to say. She’s terrible at making small talk and she has never been very good at it. She sighs, there is a heaviness to her sigh, perhaps a sign that she is far more unhappy than she appears.

Turning, she turns to face him fully, her body parallel to the river below. “Tell me, what is Delumine like?” She has a thirst for knowledge that is almost insatiable. While she has been in Delumine for some time, she still does not have a feel for how this kingdom is. So many things have happened here, so many things that have shaped her perception of the place. Surely there was more to Delumine than death and destruction. Had she found herself in a court of hearts and flowers? She might die if she had.

@Ipomoea

[Ipomoea]

rose-colored boy

He watches her the way a bird might watch a stranger approaching, with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. Her words, her stance, her implicating words have him on alert, wary and ready to fly away if things take a sudden turn; and yet, his desire to understand has him rooted firmly in place. Like a bystander at the scene of an accident, he cannot will himself to look away.

Something in her eyes is unsettling familiar in a way he can’t quite put his finger on, let alone admit. Ipomoea, normally so vibrant, so happy - but there’s a shadow growing in his heart, a gloom settling in the back of his mind. It crept in so slowly, so subtly, he’d hardly noticed it at first. A flicker of doubt in the morning, a glance of uncertainty at the day’s end, an eerie silence in his thoughts during his free time. When the world began growing dark and heavy around him, it began also to overwhelm his own light that flickered lonesomely into the night.

He hadn’t realized, perhaps by sheer willfulness; not until he saw that same darkness reflected in Sloane’s eyes.

It both repulsed him and drew him in.

Is that my future? The thought was intrusive, unwelcome; he pushed it back as soon as it flickered into his mind but still it stuck, stubbornly, at the forefront. He didn’t know Sloane, and it was presumptuous of him to believe she had once been different, to assume how she might have behaved in her youth. But still he couldn’t help but wonder if her thoughts had started the same way as his, if they had grown like a seed buried in soil: unseen, unknown, uncared for until it burst from the earth and erupted in growth, fighting to be recognized. Was that the point of no return, the point when fighting those thoughts became more effort than they were worth?

Would the shadow over his heart grow the same, so that he woke up one day standing upon the edge of a cliff?

It was a disconcerting notion, but Ipomoea couldn’t help casting his gaze down to the water below. It churned and frothed over the rocks, its white capped waves spraying him with a mist that was slowly dampening his face. Every so often they parted, and he caught a glimpse of the slate-grey stones that they hid, their precipices ending in wicked points. At a loss for words, he could only sit there and watched as the water fell back again, consuming the boulders whole, concealing their secret.

Sloane sighs and turns to him. A speckled ear flicks in her direction, but otherwise he is still. Thinking. Waiting.

”Tell me, what is Delumine like?”

He almost sighs with relief at the change of subject. He uses it to push the cloud back, to lift the weight from his chest so that he can breathe again. “Delumine,” he says, and his voice is equal parts quiet and thoughtful.

“It’s many things. It can be a quiet place, a place of tradition and learning. And it can also be a very loud place, a place that celebrates life and living.” He wonders if she catches nuance in his tone, the double meaning to his words. “And it can be a somber place. We love knowledge, but sometimes knowledge can be heavy, or come with a price.” He hasn’t had to pay that price, not yet. Oriens paid when he miscounseled Caligo; not even gods were immune to being wrong, he knew.

“But above all,” he says, meeting Sloane’s gaze evenly, “it’s a home.”



Ipomoea had found a home there, one that had welcomed and even upraised a scraggly orphan that knew little about life. He had seen the Court take in strangers before, like a pink-striped mare, a tattooed stallion, and a pale-eyed dancer. Never had he seen them turn away someone who was searching to belong. Their faces are appearing in his mind, bringing the smallest of smiles to his face.



“We all have our own niche here, but it only works because he have each other.” And it’s my home, too, he doesn’t need to say, even when I'm not happy all the time.

hearts are breaking
wars are raging on
you’ve got me nervous
i’m at the end of my rope
hey, man, we can’t all be like you

i wish we were all rose-colored too
my rose-colored boy




@Sloane !
”here am i!“

empluvie art

[Sloane]

What Ipomoea did not know what Sloane had once been a happy child. Well, happier than she was now. She had the innocence of a child, the ability to see things that adults could not. And yet, being a triplet had worn her already unloving mothing down. Someone had to go…and it had been Sloane. So from the moment she had been born, she had been pushed away, picked on, told that she was unimportant. A seed of self-doubt and self-loathing had been planted and had begun to grow. It had made her life hostile to the point that she weaned herself early and then left her family behind. Perhaps if the environment had been different, she would have had the personality of the stallion before her. But unfortunately, that was not the life she had been given.

These sorts of thoughts plagued her mind often. She wondered what life would be like had she grown up different, about what she might have been like if she really knew her mother, father and her siblings. What would her life be like if she had never found Novus? If Rift had never swallowed her whole and spit her out here? So many questions, so many things that she wanted answers to. And yet, she had no answers.

And so, she settles on finding out information about something that she knows she can get answers to. She wants to know about Delumine, about what makes this place tick. What about this place kept those here that called it home. She may be relatively new, but she knew this place had history. She had seen the libraries, the way the scrolls filled the place from floor to ceiling. So much history and she couldn’t say she knew much of anything about this place or of Novus as a whole. And so, she asks him.

When he begins to speak, she turns her head to better hear him. Feet take her a step forward, a step closer towards him so she might be able to hear him over the roar of the whitecaps below. She listens attentively, but she is confused about how such a place can be quiet and yet loud. She says nothing however, trying to focus on the fact that Delumine is a place of learning. Sloane likes to learn.

But there is a change in his voice. The way he says this place celebrates life and living is shadowed by a tone she’s heard before. He’s hesitant, but then he continues, saying that this place can be somber. While these people crave knowledge, knowledge can come with a high price. This too, she knows well enough. “All things come with a price.” Everything from giving life to another, to taking one. To sharing a secret or making a moment. Everything you lived and breathe ultimately came at a price for someone. It might not be a price paid by you or paid at that time, but everyone would pay up eventually. That’s just how life worked. Did the people of Delumine not understand this?

He doesn’t linger on that piece of information, preferring to dwell on the happier thoughts of this place. It didn’t surprise her, not really. After all, she can see the way he looks at the world through foggy glasses. He chooses to see happiness and hope where she chooses to see reality. They each had a very different way of looking at life but each was entitled to their own opinion.

But then he continues, saying that above all, Delumine is his home. She sighs. “I have never had a home.” She’s always been a wanderer, lurking within the shadows and trying to find someplace that she might belong. But as of yet, nothing has captured her attention for long. She moves from one home to the next with each one just being a temporary residence. Nothing drew her in and kept her there. She was unsure if Delumine would be any different than the “homes” she’s known before. “I have yet to find my…niche, as you call it.” She still felt like a stranger, like an outsider. Perhaps it was because she could be hard to get along. No everyone appreciated her sarcasm. And yet, here Ipomoea had discovered a side of Sloane that not many ever got to see. The more self-conscious side, the side she always was trying to surprise.

@Ipomoea

[Ipomoea]

rose-colored boy

She takes a step closer to him - and it’s a step further from the river that rages below. His heart is still wild and wary, but it doesn’t beat itself so fiercely against his rib cage. He has her attention now, moreso than the raging waters and the sharpened rocks they hide.

And for that, he’s thankful.

Ipomoea does not know what has brought her here today, nor what has made her contemplate death. He only knows that she’s here, and he’s here too; together they stand upon the edge, taunting death with every breath, every step, refusing to succumb to the pull. Mist still beats his face, the river’s cry near deafening in his ear. Like a soldier in battle, he thinks as he listens, although he can’t say he’s witnessed that side of the anecdote himself. But there’s a desperation in the waves that he imagines a soldier might feel, and he likens the noise to a war cry, fighting for life and freedom.

He could learn a lot from the Rapax, he supposed; here it raged, seemingly endlessly. But he knew that if you traveled just a bit further downstream, the river would widen and the water would calm and river otters would drift lazily downstream. There was a time for everything, a time to love and hate, a time to fight and make amends. A time to live, a time to die.

”All things come with a price.”

“I suppose you’re right about that,” he muses aloud, and there’s a pensiveness in his voice that was not there before. “But not all prices are so hard to pay.” Some he would pay willingly, if it meant seeing a friend again or fixing something broken. Others were hidden so well, they almost didn’t seem to be a price at all.

But he was learning, if only gradually, that a seemingly small decision might cause a bigger ripple than ever he imagined.

She says she’s never had a home, and he can’t help the sudden ache, the weight that rests upon his chest at her words. That is something he can relate to - Po had not had a home, not for the first few years of his life. Not until Delumine had taken him in. He remembers what it’s like; not knowing where he would sleep each night, never truly being safe. He had made the most of it - he always did - he had worn a smile and laughed and sang and danced with the merchants.

But he did not want to go back to that life. He always knew where he could return to now.

“Neither did I,” he admits. “Not for a long time.” The roaring of the waves has subsided, and he takes another step away from the water, cocking his head at the treeline beside the river. Just through those trees was a meadow, where the flowers bloomed in every color imaginable. The Court, his home was in the southern recahes of that meadow, where the Rapax was calm and bubbling.

“But Delumine gave me a home, and I found my niche.” Raising an orphan to a Regent, despite his less than appealing past or experience. That was what Delumine did; it inspired hope, it offered chances. It took one life and made another.

“Maybe your niche is already waiting for you,” his voice is soft as he turns back to her, his eyes bright and smiling. “Maybe it’s up to us to make a place for ourselves, and do with that what we will.”

He believed, with the naivety and optimism of spring, that Delumine could do the same for her as it had for him. It could help her blossom, like the wildflower meadows did each year.

hearts are breaking
wars are raging on
you’ve got me nervous
i’m at the end of my rope
hey, man, we can’t all be like you

i wish we were all rose-colored too
my rose-colored boy




@Sloane !
a bit all over the place, sorry <3
”here am i!“

empluvie art

[Sloane]

She follows him as he inches away, leading her away from the roaring riven and further inland where it might be considered safer. And yet, it was the riven that seemed to clear her thoughts. Ironically, it was the violent crashing of waves and the sounds of water against rock that helped her to find peace and serenity. It helped to clear her mind and keep her sharp. But it was the quiet of the meadow that allowed her thoughts to wander onto things it probably should not wander onto…onto things that might hurt herself one day.

They speak of Delumine, mostly of the good things, but some of the bad. Delumine was a place full of life and celebrations. It was also a place full of knowledge. He claimed that some knowledge came with a price and she informed him that everything came at a price. It might not be a big price or one so easily seen, but it would unveil itself over time. Some prices were so easy to pay while others took a lifetime and the debt never paid. But she says nothing more on the matter, for nothing else needed to be said.

She admits that she has not found her niche in Delumine, that this place still feels foreign and unwelcoming. Sure, there were kind souls that dwelled here, souls that welcomed her, but this place still felt unwelcoming. It wasn’t there fault. After all, Sloane was no so easily to get to know or get along with.

He admits that he too, did not have a home for a long time. Then he understood what it meant to be homeless, to never feeling as though he belonged somewhere. However, he claims that he found a home in Delumine, that he found his niche. He appeared happy, though she couldn’t be sure that he didn’t feel that way all the time. He struck her as one of those individuals that seemed to always be happy, even if the sky was grey. Sloane was not that type of person. When the sky was grey, she felt every shade.

He continues, claiming that perhaps her niche was here, somewhere, just waiting to be discovered. She doubted his words, much like she doubted the weather these days. Sighing, she looked at him. “I don’t know how to be a part of something greater - it’s not in my nature.” Then again, what was in her nature? Could it be that what she thought was her nature was really just her way of coping? Perhaps she was never meant to be the person she had become. What if it was all a façade and she was nothing?

She sighed as she picked up her stride, coming to walk alongside him. Her gait now matched his as they traveled towards the edge of the forest. “If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m not exactly the person people are quick to befriend.” She had no friends. She preferred her little island off by herself. Others were so different that she had no idea how to navigate a friendship with them. Then again, she didn’t blame them for the same opinion of her. It was hard to get to know a monster such as herself.

@Ipomoea

[Ipomoea]

rose-colored boy

His smile is rueful, a little bit sad and a little bit understanding. He knew he wasn’t going to change her mind; how could he? She believed in nature, he in nurture. His life was as much what he’d made of it as it was what the world had turned him into.

He wants to tell her so - his heart is aching, for her and for himself. You’re still young, his thoughts plead silently for her to understand. There’s so much left ahead of you. He was not the same person he had been a year ago; each season he was different, if only by a small amount. Each day he was faced with choices, and each decision added another nick to his mold, another scar to his heart. Each one helped craft him into the man he was to become, whether he realized it at the time or not. He bet she wouldn’t be the same, either. Life kept turning, like a wheel pushed down a never-ending mountain.

She could say it was her nature all she wanted; but he had more faith than that, more hope.

Sometimes, you had to kill the person you were born to be, in order to become the person you wanted to be.

But he had learned that on his own. Perhaps she needed to, as well.

So for now he simply steals a glance at her from the side, her sigh letting out at least a little of the tension she held. As the two fall into step beside one another, as the trees close in around them and the roaring of the water fades into the background, he finds himself relaxing as well.

“To each their own,” he says instead of all he’s thinking. “But there will always be a place for you in Delumine.”

Their strides match, and birdsong quickly takes over with each step they take. His smile grows a little lighter now; the forest is a happy place for Po, so full of life and movement and song. His magic leaves a trail of new flowers and grasses sprouting in their wake.

Her voice though catches his attention again, one slender ear tilting in her direction. For a moment he’s quiet, mulling over her words. His heart is aching again, beating painfully in his chest.

“I would be your friend,” he says finally, and his voice is little more than a whisper. He hesitates, a heartbeat stretched thin between them “-If you’ll have me as one.”

Something tells him that she could just as easily befriend him as hate him.

He leaves it up to her to decide.

hearts are breaking
wars are raging on
you’ve got me nervous
i’m at the end of my rope
hey, man, we can’t all be like you

i wish we were all rose-colored too
my rose-colored boy




@Sloane !
<3 <3 <3
”here am i!“

empluvie art