Nerves led him to hang around the area in which he had recently found himself. Scents were fewer and further between here, although some of that may have been the result of the muggy climate. The way humidity hung thick in the air meant that odors were frequently hidden beneath the musk of watery decay. It was easy to lose your scent when you walked through the waters. Easy for the slick mud to fill in your hoofsteps and rapidly obscure any trace that you were ever there.
It was both a comfort and a curse. Comforting in that the stallion knew that he would be harder to track, but a curse in that it would be more difficult for him to tell if any others had been hanging around the area as well.
He figured that few would tend to stick to the area, and so chose it to be his place of refuge for the time being. Others would most likely be more prone to hanging around the fields he had seen at a distance, or the distant castle that towered above the land. To live in areas of great greenery and soaring grandeur, for who would want to live in a place of uncomfortable humidity, wet boughs, and sticky mud beneath every hoofstep, clinging to your hocks like an inanimate leech?
Auru Geniven would, if for the sole reason that he doubted many others would. That not many would choose to spend the majority of their time hidden amidst the shadows and decay.
But, as he lipped at the fruit of a nearby tree, having reared upon his hindlimbs, forehooves braced against the trunk, a small part of his mind wondered why, and not in a sarcastic way. Sure, perhaps the grasses that grew here were not like those found among rolling fields of flowers, but there were treasures to be found here of a different sort. The man fastened his teeth around the small fruit, slipping his jaws softly along the stem until his teeth rested against the top of the fruit, and he pulled his head back until the fruit was plucked free, stem left behind as his tongue tucked the morsel into his cheek to bite down.
Sweet juices filled his mouth, and copper eyes momentarily lit up just a little bit at the pleasant flavor. As the flesh of the fruit slipped down his throat, the man had no hesitation with shifting his hooves against the tree to give himself additional grip and balance as he stretched to grasp another of the fruits.
For a moment, he forgot about the nerves that chewed at the corners of his mind, the whispers that he was within a Court's lands, and had stayed far longer than he ought. He was a stranger to all, the coward that fled in the night and never returned. The one who never stayed in an area for too long, for then others would know where to find you, would know how to trap you. For a moment he forgot about the whispers of doubt that being 'accepted' into a Court was a lie, a trick. A way to convince a weakling to remain in a place long enough to be taken down, to rid the world of one who didn't have the right to remain in the world with his weak nature.
He forgot about the rebutting whispers that spoke of how he may be tracked down were he to flee, for a traitor was unlikely to be tolerated.
Whispers to stay, whispers to go, for a moment he forgot them all.
Instead, he was distracted by the pleasant, sweet flavor of the fruits that hung above him in the boughs of the tree, the ones that challenged him to test his balance and stubbornness if he wanted to enjoy their taste and texture, to absorb their nutrients into his body. And it was a challenge that he was willing to take, his stomach grumbling contentedly as he fed.
This was not the first time that Florentine had crept up upon another but, had she considered it, she would have deemed it fair in the grand scheme of things. She had, after all, been crept up on and startled by others many a time.
Coming straight from Rannveig’s most recent court meeting, Flora had entered the swamp still mud splattered, and rather wind swept, from her earlier landing. Since she was already disheveled, this had made for a perfect time to explore Terrastella’s swampland.
The flower girl moved with her wings outstretched and arched to better catch the small drafts of air that wafted through the swamp. It made each step feather light, yet the deeper Florentine drifted into the swamp, the deeper and thicker the bog became. All too soon, her wings were arched high, high enough to escape the stagnant waters as algae clung to her golden coat.
The smell here was pungent, yet familiar. As she waded the girl kept a weather eye open for the shadowy form of the beautiful swamp witch. It was not Yana who intercepted Florentine’s path, but rather a newcomer. His form was now familiar to Flora’s amethyst eyes, for she knew his curves well. Yet, for all she had studied him at the meeting, there was still much that was strange and new about the quiet boy.
In silence, with only the idle bubbling of water and the hum of insects meeting her ears, the girl watches the boy eat. It was a crude manner to acquire fruit, or so Florentine thought, blessed as she was with wings. For her, getting fruit from the bough of a tree was a simple, easy feat. Despite this, she had never tasted the fruit this boy so keenly ate. Maybe the ease of the task took away the satisfaction?
The longer the watched him, the wetter her tongue became and her stomach more restless. From the shadow of the trees, beneath the low hanging vines she asks him, quite pleasantly, “Does it taste sweet?”
To merely ask was not enough, and with a smell of stagnant water and sodden leaves, the flower girl wades from her vantage point. Petals float mulishly on the disturbed water that ripples in her wake. They long to linger with her, to cling to the flowers that nestle and grow vibrantly within her mane and tail. Florentine, golden and violet, brings the vitality of a wild forest and a scent of rosemary and lavender that is so foreign here in the dank swamp.
“Would you be so kind as to get me one too? Court business can be frightfully hungry work.” She asks again. Then, with her voice dropping, she steps close to him. Heat brushes against heat, rubbing, as she brings their bodies closer in the humid heat. Her bright eyes peer out conspiratorially from the long tangle of her forelock, ‘…Not to mention boring.” Her smile is slow and warming. She was not made for court life. No, this wild girl would rather fly to the ends of Novus before finding herself within a meeting.
@Auru <3 <3 sorry for the wait! i look forward to where this will go :)
He didn't hear the sloshing of the water as the other approached for the sweetness that flooded his tongue as he successfully nabbed another in his mouth. Sure, he could always just break a bunch of them off with telekinesis and save himself the trouble, but where was the fun in that? Where was the challenge? He had seen a challenge, and accepted it accordingly. He would not back down from this one.
It was impossible to not smell the scent of flowers in such an environment, but he mistook it for the passing odor of plants, and not a sign of company. It wasn't as though flowers did not grow here. His nose twitched, but it bothered him not.
However, another impossible thing to miss, was the sound of a voice. And unlike the scent of flowers, this could not be passed off as not signaling company.
"Would you be so kind as to get me one too? Court business can be frightfully hungry work."
His lips were actually just encompassing one of the fruits when the question was proposed, and the end result of his startled head turn was almost comical in some aspects. A young stallion braced against a tree in a fairly undignified fashion, brows furrowed and ears cocked with confusion, fruit half hanging from his mouth. Some distant part of his subconscious rolled its eyes and murmured that he ought to eat the damn fruit or spit it out, don't just hold it there.
He did.
Just before it fully set in that he wasn't alone.
He had been relaxed, so the anxiety was both easier and more difficult to deal with. Easier in that it wasn't as strong as it could have easily been had he already been on edge, harder in that he wasn't prepared for it, meaning that while weaker, it's effect was much more profound.
The woman seemed more preoccupied with her own thoughts for the moment, and while the brown stallion was too busy feeling the sudden rising surge of terror to react much, she approached, and he felt her flesh brush against his, and it did absolutely nothing whatsoever to help calm the rising tide of fear, even as the woman seemed to glance over at him with a smirk(?).
"Not to mention boring."
First, what was she talking about again? He must have missed her words for the sound of her voice. Sort of like missing the forest for the trees. Or would it be missing the trees for the forest since in this instance he had been too focused on the big picture to see the details? Ah, semantics.
Second,
"AAAHHHHHH!!!"
The man suddenly kicked off the tree with his forehooves, said limbs flailing as he screeched in a mixture of terror and left over shock from the stranger's sudden arrival. Unfortunately for him, the kick had been a little too strong, sending the man standing only on his hindlegs dangerously off balance. He teetered, forehooves pawing frantically at the air in front of him as he stepped back with a hindleg, meant to be an attempt to give him balance and re-orient himself so that he was now faced towards the woman in his whole body, instead of having his legs awkwardly facing the tree while his torso and head tried to face the woman. Fortunately, the act did work as intended, and momentarily restored what normally would have been enough balance for him to drop to the ground on all fours as opposed to falling.
Unfortunately, he was still suffering from the effects of the great momentum he had pushed himself off with as well as flailing limbs and so it just wasn't enough this time.
All he knew was that moments later, the stallion suddenly found himself hitting the ground with a distressed 'oof!' and a wince, all four limbs now hanging uselessly in the air. He blinked, the cause of his anxiety and shock momentarily forgotten as he simply stared at the swamp's canopy, blinking stupidly once more. The flailing and fall had made him a little dizzy, and his brain was more preoccupied with 'how did I end up on my back?' than anything else.
The simple fact that he was startled by the fall was enough to momentarily keep his mind pre-occupied and therefore, both unresponsive to and distracted from the woman whom he had been speaking to.
OOC: This was supposed to go more seriously than this, with him just being scared and tossing her one in the hopes that she'll leave him alone. I write this character so much though that repeating the same scenario gets boring after a time and so random shit happens. Once wolf Auru fell off a giant-ass mushroom. It was... interesting. Also it's no problem what so ever. <3
07-28-2017, 07:26 AM
Played by
Obsidian [PM] Posts: 380 — Threads: 45 Signos: 25
In truth it was actually all over rather swiftly. However, Time has this way of drawing out the dramatic moments. Milliseconds ticked by like minutes and afforded Florentine time to process the steady rise and twist of his body and the flailing of limbs before it all ended. It all looked rather athletic – in an unfortunate way.
Auru’s reaction was a special kind of startlement (she made up that word and she is running with it fyi). There were surprised reactions and then there were surprised reactions. He was flamboyant (albeit unintentionally) and it warmed Florentine’s heart to the poor boy.
All the newly appointed Emissary had been hoping for was a piece of fruit, not a boy throwing himself at her feet. However, when such things happen, one has to make do.
The push off from the tree had been rather exuberant in hindsight and so it was no surprise that it should have ended thusly. His awkward twist and the flailing of his front feet had sent one hoof whistling past the flower girl’s ear. It was with an undignified squawk that the girl had narrowly managed to scramble out of Auru’s firing line, purple petals scattering in disarray. That cry was chased by a rather startled and perplexed, “Down boy,” as his feet continued to flail.
Whilst Auru was no dog to be commanded, he still obediently went down. It was with a heavy thump and a good deal of swampy splashing, that the boy bonded with the sodden earth. The spray of murky green water met with not only his skin, but the flower girl’s and the bouquet of flowers that littered her tangled mane. Mud splatter and swamp spray unified and melded upon her limbs, blending themselves into a mess of dirty tears and a dank smell of decaying vegetation.
“Well, at least I am not the only one who needs practice on their landings.” Florentine observes lightly, her head tossing to clear a rogue droplet of water that was valiantly streaking its way down her forehead towards her eye.
Peering down, with amethyst eyes to where the boy still lay scant centimeters from her she chirps a little too brightly, “Well, it’s not everyday a boy falls at my feet.”
Carefully, for it was difficult to miss the boy’s wide, startled eyes, Florentine steps closer to him. Her eyes trail over his body. “Does anywhere hurt?“ Concern for his welfare began to creep in, but upon seeing no obvious injury her clenched heart eases somewhat. “Let’s be grateful for swampy landings eh?”
An odd tap at her foot captures the dusk girl’s attention. “Oh!” She exclaims as her eyes flit to the fallen fruit and its only slightly bruised skin. ‘Well thank you, you at least got me a piece of fruit down.” With little to do she takes a bite before peering back at where the boy still lay, his limbs skybound.
“Fruit? We all need a little sugar after a bad experience.”
He didn't see how he nearly hit her for his own eyes rolling in his head. Didn't hear her words for the terrified shriek that sounded less like the cry of a spooked stallion and more like the scream of an infuriated chicken. Didn't notice how his landing and connection with the murky waters and mud splashed not only himself but her as well, too overwhelmed at the moment to do much more than lay there, hooves dangling uselessly in the air.
Light words snapped him out of the trance, although even as his ears flickered to better catch the sound, he made no effort to get up for a moment, still dazed and lost. The words didn't register, only the fact that they had existed was able to get through his foggy mind. He knew that she spoke, and that her tone was light, but what she spoke would forever remain a mystery to him.
Unless he asked.
Which he would never dare.
But then copper eyes, still blown wide with startlement (he somehow broke the fourth wall to steal her word and run with it as well) found themselves meeting amethyst ones as they peered down at him, and they grew even wider if such a thing were possible.
"Well, it's not everyday a boy falls at my feet."
He... wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to take that comment. Was it friendliness? Derision? A simple quip meant to be humorous? Oh gods, was he supposed to be laughing? Was he supposed to respond? What was he supposed to say? Smile? Look offended? What was he supposed to do.
Unknown to him, as his mind began to whirl once more, body unconsciously trying to press itself further into the earth in the hopes it would swallow him whole and take him from this situation, a soft whimper escaped his closed lips, sounded like the pathetic whine of an upset youth.
But she wasn't looking at his face anymore, and he didn't know whether to be pleased with having his expression no longer monitored or concerned for how she must certainly be searching for his weak point. He had fallen down in front of... someone. She was important, right? He felt that he vaguely remembered her as having been someone important at the... meeting, right? He wasn't sure, it was all sort of blurry. He remembered being there, and then... there was a lot of talking, and then he was somewhere else. He left, right? He had to have, that's how he got to be somewhere else.
But he vaguely remembered... Rann... something, as having been addressing the other one as though she was someone important. And he had just fallen down in front of someone important. Oh gods was she going to beat him for not being capable of showing dignity in the face of his superiors?
Oh gods, she had mud on her face. That wasn't there when he first looked at her a moment ago, right? So it had to have been his fault from when he fell. Oh gods, he really was in trouble now.
You've fucked up, little boy.
He knew...
"Does anywhere hurt?"
Actually, he was fairly certain his shoulder had hit some sort of rock buried beneath only a thin layer of mud when he fell, because it was stinging pretty badly right about now. Maybe even bleeding, but probably not, probably just a bad bruise, maybe a little abrasion. He couldn't see it so he couldn't tell.
But like hell he was going to let her know that. He didn't need her hitting his already injured areas instead of just general hits. His mane ought to keep it covered anyways.
I'm not here to die today, so expect nothing from me.
He didn't answer, verbally or not, simply stared silently with wide eyes and fighting back more whimpers with every subtle movement that brought her closer, whether intentional or not. And suddenly, she was speaking again.
"Let's be grateful for swampy landings, eh?"
His brow furrowed before he could stop himself, confused by her words. Huh? What was she talking about?
He jerked as her voice suddenly sounded again, louder than before.
"Oh!"
He gave a light convulsion in a knee-jerk reaction, but continued to simply stare at her warily. He really ought to get up right about now, and in fact, his center of gravity felt a little off-kilter following his slight seize. He warily eyed her as she kept talking, at least she wasn't looking at him anymore.
Wait, what was she looking at?
"Well thank you, you at least got me a piece of fruit down."
He tried to twist his head to see what fruit she was talking about, with no luck. Suddenly her eyes were back on him, and he found himself forced to contort his neck into a position not good for his body to keep his eyes on her.
"Fruit? We all need a little sugar after a bad experience."
He was still struggling to process what she talking about, brain still dazed but recovered enough to not be enjoying the closeness she had to him, when it seemed all of his twisted to try and get a better look sent his body tilting from being on his back to... not. His body rolled over to thud lightly on its side, a small spray of water following the unceremonious plop. His hooves suddenly began scrambling as he began to right himself, having to bite down on a cry of pain as he realized that he may have injured his shoulder more than he previously believed. He forced himself to his hooves anyway, stubbornly putting his weight on all four despite the fact that he desperately wanted to walk on only three right now.
Do not show weakness.
He wouldn't.
Especially not when she was still looking at him, as if waiting for something.
What?
What did she want?
His ears lowered themselves, only even capable of doing so because they had been more perked than usual due to his shock from the fall. He didn't notice how he began to chew a little on his lip, eyes flicking away from the woman as he warily took a step back. Eyes flickered back to her, watching, before flicking away again.
Wait... she had asked him a question, right? Or... she'd asked him a lot of questions. Oh gods, what had she asked him again? Oh gods...
If you try to bs an answer you'll most likely fuck up, sweetheart.
I know.
His voice came out barely above a whisper as he took another step backwards, head lowering as his heart began to pick up the pace once more, beginning to pound against his rib cage like a drumbeat. She probably still wanted to punish him for his insolence, and at least if he got even the littlest bit of a headstart, he might be able to escape.
"I-I'm sorry... what did y-you say?"
His voice broke on the lilting rise in pitch that signified a question, but he didn't care. More important was that she didn't look like the kind of person who spent great amounts of time in the swamp lands, so as unfamiliar with these lands as he still was, he knew them just that little bit better than she, and that could be the difference between life and death. But what if she was just good at bathing and washing away the traces of her knowledge? What if...
The swamp does not stop to watch the recumbent boy. After the murky waters settle, their startled babbling receding, the forest resumes its bird chattering, insect buzzing and idle water lapping. Business resumes as usual, the spectacle now seemingly over. For them, maybe, yet the girl of honey and wild lavender is still really quite entertained by the whole event.
There are many thoughts and memories that race through the boy’s mind. Florentine sees their ghosts within his too-wide eyes and feels the wall they build between the compatriots; one that Flora is not sure she could overcome.
The soft skin and sweet taste is delectable upon her tongue as Florentine takes another bite of the fallen fruit. In silence she eats on, considering the boy with an amiable manner. Since the meeting had come to an end, she had all evening to spend with him and the more his eyes cried out in silence, the longer she wished to stay with him… To hear the words his eyes don’t speak.
She is just about to fold her limbs and lower herself to the sodden earth beside the boy - since he shows no sign of his shock receding or any plans to right himself - when suddenly his body convulses.
Florentine springs away from him like a gazelle startled from the water’s edge by a breaching crocodile. “Steady,” the dusk girl murmurs, her amethyst eyes as wide as the moon that begins to rise. She had dodged his flailing feet enough today…
Auru rises, most inelegantly it has to be said, but the girl of wild honey steps back to graciously allow him a little more space – and of course, to further avoid his wayward limbs.
His cry captures her attention, ears twisting forward as her eyes narrow to take in the curve of his shoulder and the red that seeps sullenly from an angry graze. The boy stands before her is as stiff as bark, as unbreakable as steel – or so he tries to convince himself, much to Flora’s confusion.
Her eyes fall to the lip he worries between his teeth and her smile returns – not that it ever really left – warm and surprised. “You are quite cute. If a little smelly.” She says as she catches a distinctly swampy waft of air and leans closer to affirm it was indeed him.
The smell stalks her as she steps back, just as strong, just as pungent. Her eyes fall to the damp splatter of algae and mud that covers her limbs and chest and she nods to herself, “Gosh, it seems we’re both quite smelly.”
Today was definitely a dirty day.
Her mouth opens to impart more words, but suddenly he is speaking and he sounds nothing like she expected him to. Shock has her hear lifting and her eyes flitting between his stuttering lips and his wide, wide eyes. She was quite unsure exactly how she expected him to sound, but this wasn’t it.
“Which part did you not hear?” She asks him quite amiably. “I have said quite a lot. It’s a consequence of not saying anything to me. I hear silence and I have to fill it. Its an unconscious compulsion.” Or so she had been told. Florentine pauses for a moment, her head tilting as she takes in the bird boy and his fluttering heart.
“I had been offering you fruit…” She raises the piece in question, extending it to him. “Little bit of sugar? Makes you feel better?
“Or did you miss everything I said? In which case, let’s just start from the beginning. I am Florentine.” She offers a dip of her head, slow, careful, as the poor boy looked for all the world like he might flee at any moment.
She lets another pause pass between them, and anxiously, in case he loses the ability to use his tongue again, she leans in close and whispers, “Now’s the time to give me your name.”
What is there to smile about? Although, he supposed it must have truly been humourous to watch him flailing about like a newborn foal. No doubt it only added to the reason he must stay on his guar-
Wait.
Hold on.
Back up, rewind, take two.
What?
Cute?
He didn't even fully process the fact that she had stepped back when she's speaking again, his brain still utterly ground to a halt because woah, hang on a second there.
"Gosh, it seems we're both quite smelly."
...And it seemed the topic of his confusion passed. Taken aback, he decided to just forget that that statement was ever made, lest it drive him to madness trying to pick through what it meant.
To more present, active worries, she was surprised, or so it seemed, to hear him speak. Was she not the one talking to him prior to this? Had she expected him to keep his silence? Oh Vespera, had he just royally fucked up by opening his goddamn mouth again? Oh, this was what he deserved, wasn't it? This was what he deserved for questioning, this was what he deserved for not listening the first time around.
He should have listened the first time she spoke. Shouldn't have asked her to repeat herself, should have just kept his stupid mouth shut once and for all-
"Which part did you not hear?"
Which part did he not-?
"I have said quite a lot. It's a consequence of not saying anything to me."
Consequence? Oh he knew he had royally fucked up-
"I hear silence and I have to fill it."
Wait he was in the middle of thinking-
"It's an unconscious compulsion."
Can you just pause for two seconds-
"I had been offering you fruit..."
He was trying to-
"Little bit of sugar?"
Wai-
"Makes you feel better?"
Can you jus-
"Or did you miss everything I said?"
Please-
"In which case, let's just start from the beginning."
Oh my Vespe-
"I am Florentine."
His mind didn't even bother, simply stuttered where it was at and processed no more. He waited, simply standing where he was, weight tilting slightly to lean more onto his good hoof as the mare in front of him looked at him expectantly. Slowly, but surely, his brain kicked back into gear as he raised a brow, unknowingly biting his lips as he did so and portraying a strange mixture of nerves and some subtle sarcasm in the cock of the brow.
Only one thoughts managed to process.
Done yet?
It seemed she was more or less done speaking.
Yes?
Wait a beat.
One more.
She's still not talking.
Okay, it should be over.
Yeah she's done.
Well, to be quite honest, no he didn't catch most of her repeat of what she said. It all happened so fast it just flew straight over his head. He had been too wound up to begin with due to her sudden appearance to really be capable of fully processing her words, mind too distracted by his own whirling thoughts. And then she had never given him even a moment to try and allow his brain to pull itself back together, and everything just managed to short circuit.
One could practically see the smoke coming out of his ears as his eyes were blown wide, less from fright now and more just sheer... shock? Disbelief? Confusion? There wasn't quite a word that could encapsulate the feeling of one's mind simply ceasing to function in face of such overwhelming information to process.
In some sheer form of desperation, the man managed to latch onto one, tiny little thing that she had spoken. One small piece of the conversation (monologue, really) that had registered. A phrase so familiar that he had heard it more times than there were stars in the night sky, albeit with the ending word being different nigh every time, but the phrase itself, and the phrase's meaning, so familiar and well known that even his smoking brain could keep up with that at least.
She watches as emotions and thoughts flit across the dusk boy’s face. He flounders, his eyes so wide they become windows to the sea of confusion he finds himself within. Flora’s words are the waves, heavy and relentless, albeit harmless, even as they pull him this way and that.
Florentine’s ability to be quite so talkative, was both a blessing and a curse. In this moment, with a boy so utterly stupefied beneath the onslaught of her monologue, the dusk girl realized that it was indeed a curse.
Her lashes lower to her feet that, dirtied and slender, shift awkwardly in the damp foliage. She longs to pick through the feelings and thoughts, that tangle and twist their way through his addled brain. Had she offended him? Or was she merely too forward? It had never been an issue to the twilight girl before, and yet it does not stop the embarrassment from twining itself tightly through her abdomen.
When Auru speaks at last, she welcomes the words with bright amethyst eyes. Her gaze drinks in his face, the curl and dance of his lips as they form each word. She forgets that he ever spoke before, that he ever questioned what she had been saying, for he answers her at last.
His words are small, a paltry amount given how many she has shared with him, yet his name beckons a smile from her lips and the easing of her rosy blush. “I do not have a surname, Auru Geniven.” She whispers, quite enviously. It seemed like such a mythical thing, such a lavish thing for one to be in possession of a surname. For a girl born in myth and mystery, she hungers for one of her own.
The fruit lies forgotten at her feet, though its taste still plays upon her tongue even as she moves to draw his name upon his skin. She dresses him with it, just to see how well it fits. “I think it serves you well.” Flora adds gently and wonders what her own might be, had she been born to different parents, a different world away.
Her mouth opens, to ask another question, to comment, to converse yet further. But before words can tumble from her lips, her mouth snaps shut. She says nothing, eyes trailing the rise and fall of his raised brow, cocky, yet shy. With a dip of her head, she allows the silence to reign, allows it to sink between them, waiting for him to shatter it with his own words.
@Auru gosh i am so sorry for the museless drivel :( <3 <3
He did not register how his stuttering faculties led to an awkward tinge on the woman's part. He was too confused in the static whirlwind that was his own mind to truly notice how his reactions affected others. He barely even registers the way the words fall from his lips, heavy for the weight they seem to carry on his tongue. Full of humming consonants and round vowels, not bright in the slightest. Thick and dripping, the name seems to fall from his lips like syrup, only far from sweet.
The syllables were rather bland, and so went unnoticed, the man's voice only a distant murmur in his own ears.
Copper eyes were still pointed in the direction of amethyst as those countering orbs rose to meet his, but it was not a connection that could truly be made, no matter how hard the pegasus on the other end may try to establish it. His eyes were pointed in her direction, and he observed the way her lips moved, curling into the faintest outlines of a smile.
He gave a soft hum in the very deepest regions of his chest, hardly audible even as it resounded within his own form to be heard from the inside out. She looked like she smiled a lot. He didn't know why he thought that, but the smile just looked so natural on her face.
Her lips moved again, shaping themselves around syllables of some sort. Returning words to his own speech, a response of some sort to the giving of his name.
... His brow furrowed just a hint as he squinted at her lips, trying to follow what she was saying.
He heard her voice, but it sounded thick and murky, as if heard through a fog from very far away.
Actually, he heard it loud and clear, but while his ears may have received the information, his brain had put up some sort of barrier, and the words she spoke slammed hopelessly against it, before withering away with nothing to sustain them, the information lost now that his brain refused to receive it.
She paused for but a moment, and his squint became slightly more pronounced, his movements small, even though they felt like the greatest tasks in the world. It felt like he had stone stuck to his skin, and to move any part of his body he had to break the stone first, only to have it reform the moment he stilled again. It made moving hard, and now the stone was spreading.
Her voice sounds again, even if he cannot hear it. He feels it against his ears, and sees her lips moving, so she must be speaking.
He ought to respond to her in turn, no?
But the stone had spread, coating his throat. He didn't hear what she said anyway, and it would be so very rude to ask her to repeat it again, wouldn't it? He can't move his jaw very well anymore, the stone has locked it in place. He tries to push air past his vocal cords to bring forth even a hum in an attempt to communicate, but he finds himself without control of his breathing, the breaths passing through his nostrils guided by the lowest, most base functions of his brain alone. Not something he has any power over.
His breathing is fairly steady as she opens her mouth again, only to snap it shut. Her head bows, and it looks like she is waiting.
He cannot fathom whatever for. He does not seem to recall her having posed any question. Then again, he couldn't hear her, so it was no difference to him.
He didn't know what to say. Or rather, he couldn't fathom words.
The sheer nature of them suddenly seemed so distant, and he wondered for a moment if he ever knew how to speak in the first place.
He distantly registers that his breathing is no longer quite so steady, and has begun to stutter and sputter, even if only the slightest bit. Not a pattern unnatural for someone who has been startled, but his heart had calmed for a few moments before this began, it was not the fault of shock.
Or rather, it was, but not in the way that most would contemplate it to be. He distantly registers that there is a trembling beginning in the faint regions of his hindquarters. A shaking of the innermost muscles that is more like a twitch or an internal spasm than anything else.
And it is only then that it becomes so very clear to him that he became detached between his own speech and the moment of silence they now stand in. No wonder he was able to note everything so clearly, he was no longer associating himself with the situation very much.
And it is that realization that breaks the dam he hadn't realized he had thrown up in his haste. And the thoughts all come crashing back. Whirling around, and around, and around...
He didn't realize how much his momentary detachment from the situation, the result of him being momentarily overwhelmed by shock and unable to process anything, had forced the thoughts back until the came back into his mind and raced around and around and around. Weaving through his legs like swift felines, trying to make him stumble and fall as painful pressure built behind his eyes.
The longer the flower girl stood with this boy, the more her nerves awoke and her stomach began to twist with worry for him.
There were no words passed between them now, nothing she could say that would break through his haze.
Florentine looked to eyes so glazed, that, if she looked just a little closer – not that she dared anymore- then she may see the maelstrom of emotions that churned within them.
The dusk girl wonders how much more is being said in the dark of his mind, words, so many, that are likely unable to make it to his tongue. She licks her lips, amethyst eyes trailing over him before she turns to leave. Just as she turns, she pauses, fleetingly wondering whether to say anything, yet her words seem to do little to ease him, if anything she seems to make him worse.
An unusual situation for Florentine and one, she is quite sure, she has never had the misfortune to experience before.
With a huff, brows raised in bewilderment, the girl disappears into the jungle fo the swamp. One ear remains cocked upon Auru, whilst her attention focuses upon the damp earth. Slowly, carefully, the girl meanders her way through the bog searching.
Finally spotting her quarry, Flora slips forwards, petals tumbling around her as her head dips to remove a young shoot. Keenly she turns, returning to the boy who, much to her disappointment still appears to be as mute and shocked as when she left him.
In silence she extends the shoot to him and waits. Waits in silence for him to regain some order, waits in silence for the boy to calm enough that he might at last be able to hear anything the has to say.
She longs to tell him how the shoot might aid him in relaxing, but she doesn’t, instead she drops the shoot before him and turns, looking out across the swamp, a hind leg cocked as she waits patiently, content for now to watch the swamp life, until the boy is calm enough to join her.
