The night air is cold, enough so that when hard breaths of air hit your lungs, that the wind comes in sharp. You can't remember when the shivering set in, probably back when you flew in off the water, watching it below, quickly replaced by a new kind of sea. Sand stretches as far as you can imagine. It fades into an almost non-existent horizon line, littered with stars.
One more thing for you to appreciate. Had the skies been vacant, shrouded by clouds, or illuminated by an excess of moonlight, you wouldn't have tried to make it this far. No, not over the water.
Determination pulls your facial muscles tight, frustration lingering as you acknowledge that eventually, you will have to give into humanity's curse. Sore wings, and hunger work to make the best of you. A strong mentality may take you far, and try as you may to believe that you are beyond the physical control of your body, everyone knows who wins in the end. Frustration blooms into a mood full of resentment, and while you're not sure why it's there, anxiety. You swallow it down dry, an effort to fend off the emptiness of your stomach.
Hunger manages to get the better of you. You are nothing more than human, a harsh reality that which you can't escape when disturbed sand comes forth to greet you at the thrashing of your wings. The sensation of stable ground is a gift. No more pushing, no more running, no longer is escape necessary when you're sure you've ran far enough to erase any sins. You should find comfort in it as the sound of running water drowns out the vacant air. You know that relief should be what overwhelms you as the frigrid water burns against your thin skin, a harsh reminder that you're alive, against the odds.
Yet, what is the point of living when there is nothing to live for? Are you doomed to barren, pointless living now that you've been stripped from the luxuries of home? Do they even know your name? It doesn't bother you much that the thought brings a smile to your face. You are whatever you choose to be now, whoever, if you so dare. Who is there left to remember your face, to be able to cast their gaze upon you in this dark, vacant oasis, and claim that they know who you are?
Relief coaxes away the strain within your shoulders as you flex and rotate your wings, listening to the faint rustle of feathers as you do so. One good, long stretch, finding yourself letting out a sigh. No more, or at least for now. No more what, stress? Running? You decide upon running, because now begins the art of transformation.
@any! / speaks / oh boy, very rusty for sure. this is my first writing post in two years, and my first ever with abbat! please expect major improvements in my next reply, i just need to toss him out into the world to get things started. bring anyone and everyone to welcome us back, please <3
context: abbat is wading in the oasis after flying in for the first time, at nighttime.
She is stood in the pool, illuminated by the silver light of the moon. The clouds are fast this night, rushed on by a billowing spring breeze. The night light illuminates the painted sigils and markings upon her face and body. The surface water reflects the sky, stars and moon and gauzy clouds painted upon the pool’s surface like art upon a canvas.
It is assorted midnight bright colour, until a shadow passes over her, crossing the moon, slipping like an ink spill across the water, toward the oasis sands. The silhouette grows smaller as its owner descends out of the sky. He lands, his feathers a mere whisper, but at his feet the sands spray and scatter and hiss like a serpent. The grains roll away from him like flees. Leto watches them go, watches how this newcomer marks the desert’s face with his arrival.
Through nebulous eyes she watches him, notes the gold of his skin, sweet as honey. The blue of his eyes is nearly a bruise, dark as the satin midnight above. His eyes reminds her of the depths of the ocean, where the weight of it presses down upon her spine and the cold of its embrace sinks into her bones as it reaches into her lungs and pulls the air out of her. She can only ever stay there so long before she has to rise up toward the surface again. Leto was not made to be so low, so close to the earth’s core she can hear the susurrations of its lava blood running through stone veins.
So she always rises, back to her stars that grieve her loss and try and shake the darkness that holds them sticky as a web. This night, the stars watch her, they whisper to her starfire magic and her veins glow, white, white, white with her whitehot blood.
She moves to this man, stepping out of the water as a priestess rising from a sacramental rebirth. But her rebirth was so many months before, deep in the sea, held fast between the silvered lips of a kelpie woman. Now she moves, slow as a panther, black as ink. Her galaxy eyes press upon the sunshine of his body. He looks weary to her kelpie eyes. They enjoy picking up the weaknesses of others and whispering them into her blood where instinct runs, feral and savage.
He smells of no place in Novus. Upon him are foreign scents, they will not last long, unless he flees soon. But Novus is like an insect trap, once landed it glues ones feet tight. Her eyes tumbles down the long, muscles length of his limbs to the sands at his hooves - does he feel it yet?
“Welcome, stranger.” The priestess breathes, watching him steadily from amidst the sigils on her face. Leto bathes him in starlight with that look. How long will it be until he feels that the silken silver light is not cool at all, but burning, burning, burning, as her stars above are swallowing the darkness and all around them, pulling everything into their blazing hot mouths.
You should've paid closer attention, but it'll have to be reserved for another day. She never catches your gaze once. Regret gives way to annoyance, bringing along a growing tightness in the lower corner of your right eye. You'd rather just tell her to leave you alone than you would care to interact with her at this time; your muscles ache, your mind tires, it'd give you the slightest amount of pleasure to know that you sent her upon her way with no intentions of returning.
You don't like her face anyway, the way she looks at you like she's going to find something waiting for her. Prowling eyes are met with a hard stare as your shoulder joint rolls, momentarily concealing the look you're digging back into her with behind a mass of feathers. They recoil in a final stretch for you to expose the full grandeur of yourself. The pose you make for her is pitiful at best, drawing yourself into a more expressed position with a single lifted front leg, head careened to the heavens, and tail extended, the end lightly curled for accent. The smirk you fire in her direction has been crafted with false flirtation. 'F- you,' sent without words.
"Is there something you see that you like?" Teasing words for her welcome. You don't care about her, you don't care that she addresses you as a stranger as if it will add some sort of discomfort to the situation that you likely won't think twice about her. If anything, you will be gone by morning, and this woman with her personal graffiti shall be non-existent in your conscious. "That's exactly who I am."
A cold selection spoken with fake sincerity, pulling a thin smile as you turn to face her directly, and cover ground to make your way past her for the pond. While you'd never admit to going out of your way to avoid another, you do take the express care to find yourself out of her immediate reach by a small distance. As far as you are concerned, you are not to be touched by those you consider lower than yourself.
And well, you're definitely higher on the food chain than some strange mare who paints upon herself.
You never peel yourself off of her, watching with the slightest bit of amusement as the moonlight catches a reflection upon her feeble drawings. "Isn't that who we're all supposed to be?" Satisfaction is served to you upon petite plates as you continue with your taunts, a smug look perched on your pretty face. "Not everyone has to know everyone," you whisper to her, squinting with arrogant confidence as you assure her.
Cool water begins to climb your lower legs. A shiver runs down your spine, and brings you a small start. "Why do you find it so important to paint all over yourself? Are you trying to be the art?" It comes out almost like a compliment, not one intended with being something nice, but at least a lazy attempt. You send it her way from under your left wing, lifted partially so that your head might come around and stare at her, neck out-stretched, ears turned back. Your lower jaw rolls forward slightly so that you make the idea of blowing her a kiss. "You shouldn't try to be something that you already aren't."Hope it hurts.
@Leto / speaks / i'm so sorry this took so long to get back to you! i've been super depressed with this seasonal change, and finally starting to feel better. super excited to get back to this, hope you don't mind that he's in a bad mood and kinda a butthole.
