Morning was breaking across the Day Court, the skies alit with gold and pale shades of blue. It was unseasonably warm for the breaking autumn, but then, Voltaire believed that it would always be warm in a place such as this. Even in the desert dunes, nightfall had been warm (where in his experience, the desert nights were dark and cold). Shivering some as the sweat on his coat met a sudden brisk wind that tossed sand to wedge between his hairs, he blinked against the sun and turned to rub his face against his chest. The sand, at least, was something he could never get used to. It was harsh and unwelcome, even as he shook it from his coat and trekked away from the loose dunes and toward something a bit more sturdy.
The now familiar sandstone spires of the Day Court rose in the distance, but the blue stag avoided the capital today. He needed to meet the regent here, officially that is… and he wasn’t quite ready for politics. Surely, Maxence would want to know his story, and Voltaire’s background was far from a thing he wished to share. So instead, he found himself moving toward the oasis, wondering for a moment if it was real before shaking away the thought and stepping into the blue pool, enjoying the sensation of the cool water against his sand-strewn coat.
She would find him there, partially submerged in the sapphire water, and as she approached the water’s edge, his ice blue eyes found hers and held for a moment. He didn’t know the mare, only that he saw her from a distance during the day that he’d helped with the sparring arena. Neither had spoken to each other, yet he’d respected her attention to duty. Voltaire was a creature who respected the order of duty and responsibility.
Only once it seemed he’d stared for far too long does the blue stallion clear his throat, a bit embarrassed at being caught up in his own thoughts. ”Hello.” He offers, quietly. ”I saw you, at the arena… but we haven’t met. I am Voltaire.” As a simple creature with simpler words, he offers her little more into his own insight, but begins to make his way from the water to the shore once more.
BETWEEN MY HANDS REST FIFTY-TWO PLAIN OLD PLAYING CARDS
and I trapped god somewhere between the trump and the king of hearts--
She crept from the thick sandstone confines of the fortress and out into the open desert before the sun dared to rise above the great, golden expanse of Solterra.
Seraphina was flying, skidding, hooves a flurry of soft gold and ash that danced like wings against the gentle, sloped rise and fall of the dunes; sand clung to her silver coat in a thin, pale layer, dyeing even the darkest, charcoal parts of her with a faint, ghostly glow of pearl as the first fragments of dawn’s light began to pry above the distant horizon. She relished the sensation of sand and sweat caked against her skin, the uncertain shift and sway of the sand beneath her hooves. There was great fascination to be found in the seemingly-endless scrolls of history and lore to be found in the library, but Seraphina was accustomed to playing a far more physical role in Solterran society. She thought that she liked the adjustment, but she couldn’t help but feel that her work was aimless, that all those hours spent pouring over scrolls were for naught – it was harder, she’d learn, to feel purpose when you couldn’t see the fruits of your labor, and that which she was currently cultivating was entirely intangible.
The Oasis stretched out as crystalline blue against the gentle gold of desert sands, encased by a thick circling of impossibly verdant green; for a moment, the desert descended into the wildness that she would expect of Delumine, and then it was desert again, dead and featureless. She made her way to the bank, slipping beneath drooping green fronds of palms and brushing against the thick vines and brittle leaves of thorny brush; the invasive scent of sand was replaced by greenery and crisp, clean water, though the sensation was dull by comparison to the natural lushness of the neighboring regions.
It was then that she caught sight of the familiar shape of a stallion; her mismatched gaze darted along his frame, attempting to place him. One of the few that had showed up to build the arena, she thought – that was it. He was ice and snow and stars, dreadfully out-of-place in the rich warmth of the desert; a spangling of blues. No, the Mors didn’t suit him at all, but there he was anyways, soaking in the cool, gentle embrace of the Oasis. His eyes lingered on her for what felt like an exceptionally long time, but she stood still and quiet, unwilling to break the silence between them.
At his greeting, she nodded stiffly - but, then, she was always rigid and stiff, never fluid, never flowing like the water against the soft sands of the bank.“Ah…hello,” She offers, blinking sand from her snowy lashes, or perhaps blinking in confusion. “I am Seraphina – well met, Voltaire. Have you been in Solterra long?” She doubted it – Seraphina generally made it her business to know the court inside and out, and she knew next to nothing of this Voltaire, save for his presence on the day they’d built the arena.
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
The water is thick and heavy against his legs, slowing down his retreat from the oasis as he made his way toward the mare. There is a peace to the silence around them – true to the desert, where no beast dared to walk in the heat of day. Here at the oasis, he knew this was slightly different… for the beasts of day came to find their drink. Since his soak in the pool, a pair of mountain big horned sheep had found their way to the water’s edge, as had a red tailed hawk, which now soared overhead with the occasional scream on the wind.
I haven’t. In truth, I’ve only met a couple of others since arriving… it must have been less than a month. He couldn’t recall exactly when he’d arrived to Solterra, only that the days had turned to weeks and his life had become something of a routine. This was good, as it kept him to his purpose – to his penance. But, Voltaire had let himself relax a bit, and explore the land around him with the curiosity of a newcomer. And, already the world around them had started to change. Maxence was gone, and uncertainty ran rampid among them… but they would prevail. Places like this always did.
What is to come of this place, now? Of course, the blue stag spoke of recent events where the teryr had broken the relative peace of this place… but if rumors were to be believed, he was speaking to the future regent… so surely she had some sort of plan. He planned to support her in this endeavor, however he could. And piece by piece, he expected that Solterra would heal and mend itself once more. Life would move forward, as surely as it always had before.
ooc: figured I’d incorporate recent events, but feel free to push back on him for being nosy
