Standing in the kingdom of Solis, he found himself speechless. The sunshine embracing his darkened hide scattered with thick mineral growths, their reflection dancing on the ground. He moved with slow and deliberate motions, absorbing both the warmth and the excitement of the place. It felt like summer had truly arrived and he was awakening from a frozen dream. This place was all but familiar but different. The smell of rich spices and the hustle and bustle around him made Jarek hopeful for his future. He could build a life here, amongst these honest people.
He had felt the warmth of Solis in the frozen temple. His mind had been freed from the desert devils of his past by the prophetical mare. He had chosen this place for himself. This decision had not been made by fate, but by his own desire and instincts. He would need to find a place to rest and to claim for himself within these lands. In his own mind and in his blood he knew he had what it took to guide this place to a continual greatness. However he would not discount that the one ruling here was capable. He would have to observe and make his own mind up, would the ruler here prove adequate in his own mind?
It would be ignorant to simply bluster in and assume that he was better. That he was braver and larger. Jarek fit this picture when compared to most. Dry and arid lands required hardened battlers to survive; no doubt the day court was no different. He needed to make connections, get a feel for the land and the people. He needed to get to know the people. He yearned to brush his shoulders with each and every soul. What other secrets of this world would he learn?
He almost wished the Veil Nebula could be beside him right now, her guidance was precious. Not being native to novus there was much that he needed to learn. A history book on this place would be useful, or perhaps a beautiful dancer could also tell him of the history…getting the sides from all perspectives would be important.
He stood in contemplation watching the city whirl around him. Yes, this would be home.
take a drunk girl home
let her sleep all alone
leave her keys on the counter
your number by the phone
pick up her life she threw on the floor
The desert rose was being careful, as was to be expected when sneaking out of the manor with out a guard, or more importantly her brother. But, she was in some dire need of previsions, and frankly, the manor air was stifling. Especially for one who had been raised originally, those first many months prior to her weaning as a gypsy. Trapped in those cold walls in the silent and empty wing that she had been shucked into. Some days, she just needed to be able to stretch her legs and run, which is more or less a big decision for her searching for her escape today. But now, among the bustling of the city, the little desert flower had to be even more careful. lean limbs danced through the shadows, where her brightly hued pelt could be gentled into grayer tones by the darker shade, rather than shining beneath the sun like spun gold. She knew better than to draw attention to herself. Her face markings made her an Atraer, which made her easy to remember. And easy to remember would mean word would get back to her father. Particularly as it was well known she was the one Atraer who was rarely seen in public, let alone alone.
So, one had to be careful, sneaking her way through the more crowded streets to get to the entrances to the back alleys, where fewer cared who you were, and were more concerned with the money you carried for goods. It was here that the little mare paused, glancing around, before rolling her shoulders back. She drew that khaki shawl her brother had given to her a little closer, keeping it carefully positioned over her head, around her face, wrapping to help obscure her as much as possible. Her gaze danced from person to person, making sure none of her father's guards were around, that no one was following her. She met a few eyes, gazes who quickly ghost over her, ignoring the small desert dancer, before she paused at the sight of a larger, black being she'd never seen in Solterra before, before dismissing the thought of the geode-like stallion. She was rarely in the heart of Solterra, anyways. Of course it was likely there would be others she was unfamiliar with. So dismissing the oddly rock-endowed stallion, the mare slipped into the darkened alley where the ruffians where known to exist.
The air was distinctly darker here, but it bothered Swahili not one bit. Only here does she lower that shawl from her face, and the few who look her way grin with crooked, blacked teeth - familiar smiles as they recognized a fellow 'unwanted' that they had long ago learned to enfold into their group. Many knew her name, knew her familial relations - and just as many knew why she hid with the lowest of the low, "Tired o' seein' yer sisters dressed like them pampered princesses, while ye ain't even gonna get no rag, aye, Swa?" A voice calls out in greeting, and the little rose trots in, her first smile since she snuck out from her father's home, "Everyone needs a chance to stretch their legs, and actually feel wanted, no?" She counters back, before approaching the stall owner who had initially called out to her. The old, gangly mare merely grinned that same crooked, and slightly delirious smile before pushing a basket towards the young mare, "Aint much, but we all tried ta chip in fer ya girl. Should be 'nough food ta not starve. Know that pa o' yers aint ta worried if ye lighten a few stones. But, well, we 'round 'ere. We gotta take care o' our own. An' ya may live in one o' 'em fancy 'omes, but yer ju' a' unwanted a' any o' us." The knarled mare stated. "Now, ya go enjoy yer time in 'em alleys. Any o' 'em give ya hecklin', ya tell them ta come talk ta me, aye? This 'ere li'le basket be waitin' fer ya when yer done."
Swahili briefly pressed her muzzle to the gnarled one of the croon like mare, "Your kindness is not one I deserve." As if to prove her own differences, her following words came so softly, so gently - as if afraid those of Solterra may hear her, but knowing those in this alley would understand the differences of those who come from outside, "May Helios never fail to bless your day with sunshine, and may Selene ensure your nights are never truly dark." Her father may spout about Solis, but Swahili had her mother's tutelage for those precious months when she was younger, and her gods were her mothers. Even if she payed respect to the ones of Novus. "But I must not stay too long. My brother was ill this morning, he is not providing me coverage. I must return home before I am missed." The old croon grinned again, "Then ye better git girl. Git, I say."
Swahili laughed, before grabbing the ragged basket, and pulling her shawl back over her face, and slipping back out of the dark alley, glancing around to make sure no one from her father's estate was around, before making her way back through the crowds, as close to the shadowed walls as possible. A quick in and out mission for supplies, before her father realizes she is gone. If he found out . . . her return home would not be one of heartwarming welcoming, and she wouldn't put it past him to make sure she remembered the lessons to not sneak out . . . He never was shy to hit her if he knew he could get away with it.
"Speech" Thoughts
@Jarek Notes: Figured he could have noticed her sneak in to the alley, and then back out - and maybe he be curious about the little odd mare clearly trying to be sneaky and hiding in the shadows? I dunno xD haha
It was easy to be enthralled by the dancing life around him. It had been quite some time since Jarek had been in the company of so many other souls. They all seemed busy in their own tasks and jostled around him. He had found a wall to lean his side against as he flourished in the sunshine. He had thoroughly missed the desert warmth and sunshine. He watched many kinds of citizens going about their days. There were vendors, dancers, fighters and others he wasn’t entirely sure what their occupation was.
When standing still and watching from a distance, details that are easily missed by others can be spotted. This was how he happened to notice the beautiful young mare slipping between citizens and stalls alike in an agile manner. It was almost a dance, her rhythm he mused could be useful if she were ever to bear arms. He watched her embark down a dark alleyway and disappear from sight. What was she looking for there with such a manner of movement? He wasn’t exactly going to go follow her down the alleyway, but he would watch and see if she would emerge. At the very least he would make sure she came out, and that she seemed ok. He was unsure what the crime rates and safety was like within these walls.
He positioned himself in such a way that he would be difficult to avoid if she was to emerge the way she had come back in. His icey blue eyes sparked with curiosity. Maybe she would dance her way right back into him. “What a beautiful morning Solis has blessed us with, I am Jarek.” he said with a soft smile seeing her emerge from the alley. Her body lent itself well to her talents, he could see how she would be able to seemingly bend and move in the dense crowd.
“You have an agile way of moving, have you considered training for combat?” he asked in a kind tone his eyes focused on her. He was curious as to who she was and what exactly she was doing. Maybe she would scold him and simply go about her business. But he needed to at least try and ask her. Maybe this alley was something he should know about, he was after all trying to build in his mind a map of the city. Knowing all these knooks and crannies was important to knowing how a city was run. .
OOC: his already looking for talent, and appreciates different applications of skills =p
take a drunk girl home
let her sleep all alone
leave her keys on the counter
your number by the phone
pick up her life she threw on the floor
The desert rose is moving swiftly, her delicate limbs carefully pulling her through the shadows and out of the alley she had briefly been taken with. But her journey back home, unsolicited; would not be fulfilled. Her head half ducked, her hazel gaze directed towards the ground, with the basket of carefully packaged goods held by the handle in her mouth, she was all ready for a quick escape - only to have to draw up short, very quickly; upon discovering the gem-encrusted stallion in her way. She stumbled back, hooves scrambling to keep from colliding into him, haunches dropping to help stop herself faster, drawing herself up short. Upon coming to a complete stop (thankfully without crashing into him!) She followed it up with three hasty steps back to put space between herself and the stranger. His gaze however was directly on her, his smile may seem soft - but Swahili was already cautiously on guard.
The dove had been raised out of sight of the rest of the world, with only her brother offering her a gentle countenance. Most other interactions she had, had been alarmingly negative to the point of actively avoiding the rest of her family (especially her father) So this male may smile softly, but she would not be inclined to believe that softness without prompt evidence. She did consider his words, however, and she forced herself to give a strained smile in response, "Er, yes, Solis. Right." Her words were mumbled, quiet. Phrased as if she were not certain she was even saying the name of the Day Court God correctly. He was the God of Solterra, yes; but he was not the god, any of the gods; of her mother's people. It prompted her hesitance, even if she offered the God quiet respect.
The odd mineral-fused stallion had offered himself a name, however. Jarek. The sound was so rough and abrupt to the desert dancer's ears. Harsh, rigid, unmoving. Jarek. Her smile lessens but she slowly dips her head in quiet awkwardness, "My name is Swahili Ataear, of House Ataear." She responded, as she'd been trained when introducing herself to others. She was a member of her father's house after all, and that demanded the highest of respect - apparently. She thought her father just liked the power and respect he was able to demand, and no one was willing to argue with him.
And she was just the unwanted bastard child everyone was aware of, but no one was willing to talk about. The world of the elite just quietly looked the other way and pretended like the proof wasn't there. This Jarek soon speaks again, commenting on her 'agile' way of moving. But his words on if she'd considered training for combat, had the first true emotion flashing across her features. Swahili's eyes went wide, as she flinched back in obvious revulsion, "C-Combat? L-like fighting? No, goodness no! Absolutely not!" The little mare practically squeaks, eyes wide in horror, "No, I cannot say I have ever considered training for . . . for combat." She says the word with a level of disgust that speaks of her opinion on the matter, of her distress at the idea. "I am not the right sort of temperament for a soldier, regardless." Her ears pin slightly, expression confused, slightly bothered, "And to what point would you ask a lady such a thing? There are more professions than . . . that the military for agility, as well." She added, before glancing away and towards the crowd, "I apologize, but I should get going. My father would . . . . be displeased, to say the least; if he comes to realize I have left the estate without permission."
He didn’t exactly expect her to come bolting out from around the corner and almost collide with him. Her sharp stop then movement backwards only further confirmed his admiration of her movement. He listened to her responses carefully. His voice was gravelly, but he spoke softly and carefully with his words; “It is a pleasure to meet you Swahili” he said with genuine warmth. It was good in his mind to be meeting new souls that lived within these walls. He needed to know the people, and have an idea of their needs and wants.
Her reaction to his speech about combat wasn’t entirely unexpected. He chuckled softly “That is fine, it is not for everyone. But should you change your mind, seek me out. Even defensively a little training can go a long way.” His eyes showed his passion on this particular topic, sparkling with his enthusiasm. Jarek wanted to ensure that the people here could defend themselves if needed. He hoped that perhaps she would respond with, of course silly, everyone here gets basic training. But her vehenomate response to combat made him suspect that this was not the case.
“Well, I won’t keep you any longer.” he said in response to her comments about being late.”I’ll be staying above the herborium and tea shop in the trade district.” he added with a soft nod of his head. The concern within him however had started to rise at the mention of being unable to leave the estate without permission. He steps out of her path but begins to move in the direction that she had been heading.
He could understand children being restricted, but Swahili was grown. She was a woman, she need not be trapped and captured. “So your father, he restricts your movement?” he asked in the same quiet tones but with a hint of concern. In his current situation there was likely little he could do, but he would tuck this piece of information deep into the coils of his brain. If all things went to plan and he could find himself a more secure foot-hold here, then perhaps he would have more influence and ability to shape the capital.
OOC: <3
image by:https://giphy.com/Allyouneediswall
05-15-2022, 01:25 AM - This post was last modified: 05-15-2022, 01:25 AM by Jarek
take a drunk girl home
let her sleep all alone
leave her keys on the counter
your number by the phone
pick up her life she threw on the floor
As she stumbled back, keeping that distance from the stranger that had been so suddenly appearing in her path; she immediately was on guard. It was a natural response for the desert dancer that had been isolated all her life. While she was friendly, she was also naive enough to not expect the worst; but repressed enough to not be stupid. Still, this stallion didn't seem all bad, as he commented on the simple pleasantries of exchanging names. She does notice the lack of formality in the use of her first name, however. She was a lady of House Ataear, did he not realize the power and wealth her father held? Or was he that far removed from the politics - not that Swa could blame him if he was - she herself only knew how to handle herself when introduced in social situations - and not much else. Her brother would take over as head of House Ataear, while Swa herself was just to be a prize for the highest bidder to continue to expand her father's power, wealth, and control.
She wasn't so stupid as to not know what sort of life was waiting for her. Still to then hear the idea that she . . . SHE . . . should train for combat?! The very idea was alarming, "I have no desire to change my mind. Violence only creates more violence. I am a pacifist." The little desert blossom states as firmly as her meek countenance would allow, even as she stared at the ground between her hooves, "I am perfectly fine just the way I am." She had no desire to even think on such an option. He may sparkle with enthusiasm at the idea of training and fighting, but the very idea of such a thing made the rose's stomach. "Further, my father would never allow me to partake in such training, even if I were to be interested. I am a lady of the elites - my duty is to my father's house until such a time he arranges my marriage and I become the lady of my future husband's estate."
She is relieved when he agrees not to keep her longer, already not liking standing in one place for so long, before he told her where he was to be staying, and she frowned, uncertain why she would want that information. Instead, she simply inclines her head, before continuing past him to head home. She stiffens as soon as she realizes he is falling in step, his question instantly causing her to almost stumble. Those practices and rehearsed words fall from her lips as smooth as any line - a practiced lie that even Swahili was beginning to believe, "My father is a powerful stallion with many enemies, and a wealth to match his power. It is for my own safety that I am not permitted to leave the estate without permission." She argues, before glancing at him briefly. "Why did you fall in step with me?" She adds with a further frown, "It's difficult to stay overlooked, and able to just hide into shadows when you're drawing attention."
He listened carefully once more to the words she was speaking. Her father would arrange for her to be in union with someone? His brain turned and whirled at this. This concept of arranged marriage stirred the discomfort deep within his belly. How was this different to the path that he had been originally set on by his misunderstanding? That women could be traded like goods and services. He kept control of his outward expression, but this was another piece of information to tuck away in the back of his skull. This was not an arrangement he found palatable.
The loyalty to her family shone through the perversion of their customs. That even with all this she was defending her father and his choices. Was this simply because it was all she knew? Would she benefit from having her perspective challenged in such a way that Veil had done for him? Either way Jarek contemplated that he was hardly in a position to command others about their customs at this time.
He chuckled with soft warm laughter at her mention of him drawing attention. “I am but a common soldier here, but standing in my shadow allows you concealment at least from one angle. I would offer you my protection, but you don’t know me and have no reason to trust me.” He dipped his head slightly acknowledging her discomfort. He wanted to ask her many questions about her life and about life in the court. It seemed however that she was in a rush and he didn’t want to make her any more uncomfortable then he already had.
“It has been wonderful to meet you Swahili, I do hope you enjoy the rest of your day.” He dipped his head once more and shifted sidewards to push himself into the crowds to allow her space/comfort away from him. The mare had piqued his interest. Her world from the snippets of information he had been able to get from her, had mirrors to his own past. He couldn’t help but feel the concerning feeling deep in his gut. If he was to build a life here, one with real meaning - these were the kind of issues he would need to deal with.
To do such things he would need a reasonable place of power. The concept of aiding or leading the court had been brewing within him since his arrival. His lack of understanding of the systems and the current ruler had put his ambitions in check. His previous life experiences and those with the Veil Nebula had caused him to suspect any decision he made on impulse. Instead decisions somewhat had to be chewed, digested and potentially chewed again before he could settle on any one thing. His mind couldn’t help but wonder what the prophetical mare would think of the situation. Or what perhaps Caelum would advise him.
take a drunk girl home
let her sleep all alone
leave her keys on the counter
your number by the phone
pick up her life she threw on the floor
There was a variety of way of lives, even beneath the singular flag of Solterra. There where the elitists, with money older than their name - not even bothering to work from generation to generation. There were merchant families that had earned respect for their wares, and fame for the money such wares produced (her own family legacy came from such a humble beginning that had grown and grown as the prestige did). There were those who struggled to get by, begging on the street for hand outs. And then there were the passing by flights of fancy like her mother had been. Exotic caravans of horses that belonged to the desert, their steps a tribute to the gods of forgotten lands, silks and scarves, and a wildness as pure as the dawn of horses.
The desert rose held the soul, the heart of such a wayward mirage; but she was trapped into the societal claims of her father. His culture was the one she was growing up in, and it was the one that would decide her future. Married off to the highest bidder willing to offer for the young mare ready for marriage and a new household, a new family name. Where she would grow plump producing the heirs to such a family - a trapped treasure in a vault, subjected to the whims of an unknown face, a husband wanting a trophy to display at parties. She knew what awaited the daughters of elites. She also knew that her father wouldn't be as cautious in making her match as he would with her half-sisters. They were dolted on, she was an extra that would provide an extra connection to be established.
What would this stallion do if he knew her loyalties were not to her father. That it was a lack of trust to the gem encrusted stallion that supplied her words that she might avoid confrontation should he report her presence in the main fare to her father. She played the part, but her loyalties were to her brother - the only member of the Ataear Family that she properly claimed to be her own. But to save her own hide, she would cautiously say what was expected. Still she glances to surprise when he laughs, and it is like an invisible whip to her hindquarters that keeps her expression simple, when the inner rose wished to show her thorns, and throw him a huffy look. Her father would tan her hide if she didn't act a proper lady, "I can certainly shadow my own movements, sir; I do not need another to do so. I have taken care of my own self long enough to know how to avoid unwanted eyes, and my father's ire. I am certain I can travel the market without risk on my own. It is true, I do not know you, thus I cannot trust a stranger. I've seen very few moments of truth on why I should allow others my trust when they're quick to sell me out for the coin my father is willing to provide." No matter how kind this stranger painted himself, "Actions speak louder than words, I will not be lead astray based merely on empty promises." Not when she knew the ire her father would unleash as soon as the door closed, and others could no longer peak inside.
She doesn't reply when he comments on it being wonderful to meet her, instead those jeweled eyes watch him as he dips his head, pushing himself into the crowds. Only then does her shoulders relax, her posture soften, and that agility of before return, the dancer soon slipping through the shadows as if they were her own stage, steps lighter than air as she made her way back father's estate. She paused beside the wall coated in ivy, glancing around before dipping beneath the heavy vines to sneak within the otherwise sealed estate.
