you shouldn't have to pay for your love
with your bones and your flesh
There is a hush when he walks through the cobblestone streets of his Court, a heavy weight pressed down against his shoulders, and not for the first time, he wonders what he is about to get himself into -- his idea is dangerous, the sort of thing that could get him killed, and yet…
and yet, he cannot just stand off to the side and watch things happen any longer, not when there is war on the horizon and their queen nowhere to be found. He has never met her, but he has heard her stories in the mouths of her people, and he knows that she is one who might just be worthy of his loyalty, that she is not just here for the crown to rest upon her head.
“Ma'am,” He calls out to the golden pegasus when he spots her, quickening his step so that he might draw up alongside her in the midst of the search parties beginning to form. “...My name is Anzhelo. I wanted to offer my services to the Court… it is the least I can do.”He pauses and takes a deep breath before lifting his head up slightly, sorely missing the dragonscale necklace -- oh, how he could use the extra courage right now!
he can no less stop the rage in her heart than she could stop the planets from moving. Her footfalls are echoed by the silent prowling of the beast that lives in her shadow. Not a phoenix, not a flaming creature of myth that Moira so resembles and yet does not; no, the tiger is much more fierce, much more real, and much more deadly than the healer could ever be. Together, they stalk the streets of Denocte.
A fearsome duo making sure that their home is guarded and secure while their queen is away. Stolen her mind seems to hum, an angry buzzing like a hive of bees ensuing quickly after. Not even the touch of her beloved Neerja, whose heart sings the same song of wild jungles and sweltering heat and star-song dreams as her own, can settle the rumbling, the shaking of everything that the Pegasus is. Tonnerre or not, phoenix-born or not, Moira is a morning star destined to burn out.
Oh, but not yet. Before she goes, she will make the world look, she will watch the world burn.
Now, as she walks through Denocte's people, her people, she hears a voice calling out. It is no god come to save them, no devil rising up to avenge them. Instead, a golden man with horns, with eyes brimming in his soul and the sea, stares at her. She cannot help but smile, dip her head gratefully and slow the drumming within. Beside her, Neerja's mighty paws fall, claws coming out as teeth pull back in a silent snarl.
A quelling look from the Pegasus turns the tiger into a kitten, approaching to sniff disdainfully at this intruder. "Anzhelo," and it is as though a prayer, a litany to whisper in the dead of night when only her lilting, smoky voice is the last thing to be heard as all others fall into bed. "You are such a brave soul, my new friend. Let us walk and discuss our future then, shall we?"
Inclining her head, she nods down the path and slowly begins with a new companion along her other side. Anzhelo to her left, Neerja to her right, the trio draws eyes as they dance down the streets together. None have ever shone more brightly than those conspiring in the eyes of the dawn.
@Anzhelo | "speaks" | notes: I'm sorry this took so long to reply ! Let the fun begin ovo
this small boy with his hungry mouth, burning,
for a scrap of armor, blazing for a shard of love
A fever has spread amongst the streets of Denocte, burning brightly in each citizen until it seemed like they might each ignite beneath the hallowed dusk. Every step he makes is echoed by the whispers of a nation knocked off-balance and clamoring for justice, for their queen to be returned home to them, and he can feel the very pulse of his home thrumming beneath his skin.
He has little to offer, but he knows that he cannot live with himself if he does nothing -- this is perhaps his truest home, the place where he has found himself and his own inner peace, where he has shed the weight of his past into something far more manageable -- and he has seen what happens when men might believe that they are gods instead of mortals.
(He has also seen what happens when Gods pretend at being mortals, the games that they play when they are bored, and he has learned to avoid their attention like it might contain a plague.)
“I am not a soldier,” and his words are equal parts apology and explanation as he falls into step beside her, his shoulder almost near enough to brush against hers, and his voice is as soft as the wind that creeps along the cobblestone streets. “But -- people don’t notice me, not easily.” He knows this is dangerous, that what he proposes could mean his own death -- and maybe it might be his way to drive out those demons for good, and maybe it might be him surrendering instead to his demons -- but he does not falter, even without the dragon scale to bolster him.
He knows she is smart enough to understand what he is offering.
n his words, a wolf of intrigue opens before her. There is something innocent about him, something fragile she does not wish to break. But the tides of war are coming, and everything will burn before it is reborn. He is the hope of the future, a light for a new generation to come, and still his heart is on the line with his life as he spews forth word after word. It is not an eruption, this is a careful, calculated confession to pledge himself to a cause he believes worthy.
Moira cannot feel the tremor that must be snaking along his ribs, grappling with his will, but she almost imagines that she can see it, hear it in every ringing step, in every careful breath. Neither is completely confident, but his night-song voice soothes the Pegasus, lets her head come closer to his as she brushes along his shoulder in encouragement. This is not a place to apologize, this is not a court to be ashamed of oneself.
"All talents are invaluable, even those who walk on stilts or eat knives, and yours is as well." Easily she guides him down a side street, through solemn faces that stare more than those who did before. She does not like the attention on her, remembers how proud and mortified it was to be presented to the entirety of the Tonnerres, but she will not balk. The Emissary smiles at them, strides confidently towards a destination long standing within the court and visited very rarely by those she knew.
And she knows so few.
It is about time Moira decides to look into this den of inequity and secrets, and there are plenty of secrets to be shared. Prying ears should not be privy to the conversation ahead, so simple words play between them as they walk. "I'll admit, the weather has been rather lovely despite everything. It's hard to believe the world does not stop on its axis even when our worlds try to, isn't it? Anzhelo, tell me where you're from, or I'll tell you of my home while we walk," she pauses, grinning at him like a Cheshire cat.
"I would like to know you more." And it is not a flirtatious invitation, but an inquiry into the very essence of the horned man before her, for never has she seen one such as him, not really.
this small boy with his hungry mouth, burning,
for a scrap of armor, blazing for a shard of love
“You are still here because change is still coming for you.”
He wonders if this is the change that the fortune-teller had warned him of, if this might be the reason that he is still alive -- because he is needed here, his trembling courage and his shaking voice, and it is time for him to step up toward the future rather than remaining chained to his past. He is tired of being trapped by his own doubts, of being a cog in a machine instead of experiencing life for himself.
When their shoulders brush, he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and his smile only grows more confident with each step through Denocte that they take.
This is a nation of star-watchers, of dreamers and romantics, a kingdom of storytellers and magicians; and all of them are ready to march to war for their queen, to put down their quills and their instruments and to take up cloak and daggers, to clothe themselves in armor and swords. It is a grotesquely beautiful thing, this loyalty of theirs, their love for their home, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen a bond this strong between country and people.
“I was born in a forest far from here,” and he thinks, for the first time in a long time, of playing by the small lake with his brothers, of chasing fireflies beneath the glow of the moon, of the feeble illusions he had once created. “My entire herd had antlers like mine -- there were gemstone deposits everywhere that leached into the grass and the water, and our bodies would make the gems out of them. There were stories told of a herd of unicorns that had the same ability to metabolize metals, but I’ve never met any of them.”
His smile is fond, even when he knows how his story ends.
life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent
R
esolve is a war drum in his blood just as determination is the iron coursing in hers. Every echoing thud of her heart, every enraged ounce of screaming stardust in her veins, it demands Isra's return. It demands justice. It demands help.
And she is wont to listen.
Silence is a war-storm brewing in their blood, worn as a cloak upon their shoulders, a blanket made for two. Side by side they march as shoulders, as comrades, and when he speaks the phoenix girl listens. Red ears tip towards him, golden eyes focus in for a moment with an encouraging smile as she remembers the family from whence she came. Silver and strong and beautiful. Sharp as forked lightning and just as deadly.
There was not room for a softness in their skin.
"My home is far away as well, we are alike in that way. Your home sounds magical in a way mine never was. Gems were not on our skin, but the Tonnerres bedecked themselves in riches and finery nonetheless." Her midnight voice slips between them like bed sheets being pulled to their chins, it is soft and inviting and pulls you closer to her hall of mirrors and memories that show so many facets of her family.
"None of the others are winged, but there is a city not too far from us in the skies where all who live are Pegasi. That is where my mother was from before becoming Tonnerre." Her sweet mother that gave up her freedom and was tamed all for the lust of a man and the birth of a girl. There is sorrow for all her mother gave there, sorrow that bleeds like the teardrops that once came for Isra - that no longer threaten to flow under the tide of anger battering her docks.
"Do you miss your home, Anzhelo?"
@Anzhelo | "speaks" | notes: sorry this took so long!
