I thought of angels choking on their halos get them drunk on rose water
Oh, this was the sort of environment that Pandora belongs in. The wine, the smoke, the music – the revelry. There’s certainly fun to be found here, and she intends to seek it out like a prowling bloodhound; god (or, her mother) knows that she’s been nothing but bored among all of these scholars and bookworms for the past few months. Where was the scandal?
That infectious, sly smile curls across her dainty lips as she sashays through the crowds, reveling in the attention garnered by her every exaggerated movement; she is a performer, after all, and she always has a show to put on. Wild curls of fire tumble like silk behind her, drifting just inches off the ground thanks to her rapid pace; carnations and clinking golden jewelry adorn her forehead and limbs, and a beaded skirt (just as golden) sits on her rump. Only for the presentation, of course, and loaned by a newfound…friend. She’ll have to invest in some sparkly adornments of her own, soon, but for now-
Her slender hips brush against a stumbling drunk, who whirls to face her; his ram-like horns narrowly miss her flank, and she bristles with indignation. How dare he almost mar her when she’s all dressed up and prepared for a show? (It was most certainly an accident, but she doesn’t care about things like that.) The furious look he gives her isn’t an accident, however, all bared teeth and snarl – oh, she’s seen men like this before. Angry drunks, out to pick a fight with anyone who crossed their paths…even if they happened to be as tiny and delicate as Pandora. “What do you think you’re doing?” He growls, red-rimmed eyes narrowed to glare at her. “Watch where you’re going, you-“ She cuts him off there, brushing her pale lips against the curve of his neck; he jolts, then freezes, staring her down blankly. Best not to cause a scene.
Pandora smiles insidiously, tossing her head and shifting so that all of the gold that coats her frame catches in the midday light – the red of her hair gleams like flames.“Now, now,” She says softly, her voice dipping low and throaty, “Wouldn’t you rather hear a song?” Pandora practically dances around him, each step as dainty and deliberate as a ballerina performing a carefully-choreographed routine; he watches her, eyes darting the length of her frame as she twists and curls, hips swaying as though to the rhythm of a song that no one else can hear. All the while, that pleasant, hungry smiles remains stretched across her soft lips, tantalizing and needy. Watch me. He moves forward, as though to reach out and brush his muzzle against her withers, but she dances away from his touch, all white-teeth and pale flesh and gold.
She laughs, infectiously.
Her graceful steps lead her to the center of the group that has slowly formed around them. The man edges back. “If you’re going to sing, little songbird,” He says, voice dipping to a hiss, “then sing.”
Well. Any attention is good attention for Pandora.
She hums indistinctly; it clears, slowly, to song. She sings in a foreign tongue, something that she finds unpleasant. (She takes great pride in the way that her dances adhere to the stories she tells.) However, she does not know any stories of Novus yet, so this is as it must be, regrettable as it is.
She moves like wildfire; sweat makes her more like gold, and the flashes of sunlight bring out the flames of her hair.
Most dancers have a few years of experience – she has thousands. Her body moves and twists at angles that should be impossible, adhering to her every desire; the beads and golden jewelry clink rhythmically at her sides, accenting the birdsong melody of her voice. Her eyes creep along the crowd all the while, even as she sings her song, even as she dances.
She bats her lashes at them.
When she finishes, she is dripping with sweat, and the crowd is quiet. She flashes them another, conspiratorial smile – as though they have just shared the most wonderful secret – and promptly recedes back into the crowd, before she can find herself in anymore trouble.
Word had traveled far and fast about the festival that Dawn Court had prepared, and Relic? Well. He'd most certainly dragged himself out of pillows and blankets (a humble nap, nothing more than that), and had begun his trek. It was a shame he wasn't part of the court, but he found that Dusk had long settled his needs and was one he could grow in to and soothe from the sidelines. Where he could pour his now mortal soul in to. Dusk had been there for him when he'd found no liking to the others, and it was no different even as cloven hooves led him through the many others that attended.
He was careful with his steps and his mighty horns, nodding towards those that stared at him (perhaps staring at the blank right eye, milky and scarred over?), and smiling as he made his way. Earning stares was nothing new for the stallion, he was used to them wherever he went. It wasn't often that one found someone that very nearly reflected the heavens above in hues that danced on scales, hooves, and horns. Relic wore the nebulae and cosmos as a second skin, wrapped tight and entwined with himself, deep down to his core, pulsing with his heart.
He has come a long way, even to Novus, through eons and lands that were simply ash and dust in the wind, old songs not even remembered. Perhaps he was the only one that did remember, carrying the weight of shattered legacies in the back of his mind, the only living being that could recite the old text and words, the old lines. All of them, naught but a wink in time, a drop in a bucket.
The old soul moved with a light gait; he may have been immortal at some point, but shedding it off had left him at a prime eight years, still youthful, full of energy and strength.
Coming to a turn, cloven hooves paused, and he blinked a moment, glad he had stopped before he had practically bowled the fiery haired woman over. "Pardon me," he began, ears twisting forward slightly as his head moved, the sunlight catching on scales and bathing him in starfire. It gleamed and shimmered, running down the length of his spine, peeking out in rocky and craggy scales that lined up on either side of soft white hair.
She shimmered like the sun and flames dancing on bonfires where hushed voices crowded to weave old tales, something that brought a warmth of familiarity, and caused him to draw his lips back in his smile, just slightly, fangs showing a little more prominently in his joyous moment.
@Pandora || eeee i am so excited you have no idea omg
I thought of angels choking on their halos get them drunk on rose water
Pandora is so focused on getting away from her aggravators that she’s doing a rather poor job of watching where she’s going – she’s well-accustomed to running away from things, but she’s also well-accustomed to conditional immortality, and she still hasn’t developed the oh-so mortal sense of caution. When she collides with a much taller, though not bulkier, man, Pandora stumbles back awkwardly; by her dancer’s grace, she doesn’t manage to get tangled up in her own vast expanse of tail, and she rights herself quickly, blinking up at him through long, dark lashes. He’s quick to apologize, and she feels one of those genuine, curious smiles grow across her lips. A polite one. Interesting - though not nearly as interesting as the look at him. “No worries,” She says, with an easy, light half-laugh. “Happens a lot, when you’re my size.” She’s had a few thousand years to grow accustomed to being short.
She raises her chin to drink in the sight of him in his entirety – and oh, he’s a marvelous creature. She might call him exquisite. (Ex-quiz-it. What rhymes with Exquisite? She can think about it later.) He’s as dark as the sky at midnight, and his scales and hooves and horns only further the metaphor. When she looks at their shiny surfaces, it is like she’s staring up at great clouds of nebulous matter, but they’re close – oh-so close, so clear, so wonderful. (Pandora has explored countless lands over the years, but she’s never found a way to stand any closer to the stars, but he’s as close as she’s ever been.) His long tresses are white as snow, and they run down his spine to the tip of his leonine tail; they catch in the wind. He offers her a jubilant smile, and she feels hers broaden in turn, while taking note of his fangs. Pandora is a scaled creature, like him, but he is more dragon than she. As her gaze rises to meet his icy eyes, she realizes that one of them is scarred over and white; he’s blinded, she thinks. Call it a storyteller’s curiosity, but she can’t help but wonder how he was injured. “Say…” She says, taking a step towards him, still grinning, “you look to me like the kind of man with some stories to tell.” She tosses him a wink, and continues. “I’m something of a story-collector, myself. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to explore this festival with me, maybe tell me a bit about yourself?” It wouldn’t hurt to have some company, she decides, especially in this strange new land that she’s only beginning to get her bearings in – much less interesting company. (Or, on the off chance that she was wrong, pretty company, which was the second-best variety.) She tilts her head slightly, ears twitched forward to wait for his reply.
The Dawn Court held its own beauty as much as the Dusk Court did, and the ancient was glad to have caught wind of the festivities. It was a lovely thing, with flower petals dancing in the air, pressing down against the ground wherever he walked. Certainly, this place would have the remnants of the festival for the next few days, what with so many flowers being used and dancing around, being worn. It would be a lovely sight for days to come, he was certain.
All the same, he tilted his ears toward the other, still a bit sheepish in his smile. It wasn't as if he had meant to bowl the pretty lady over, and he was grateful all the same that he had stopped his pace before he'd accidentally hurt her in some way. "Regardless, I still do feel apologetic. I don't particularly like harming someone, accidental or not," Relic sighed out, smiling all the more with sharp teeth.
He felt (and of course saw) her gaze wandering over him, and there was a flicker of a flattering sensation through his chest. He was used to many looking at him, unsure of his origins or what he even was. Really, he had been like any other equine in the beginning, until his immortality had shaped him and he had become one with the cosmos above. Stars and time had formed him into an ancient creature that had seen many, many, years pass him by, the world a steadily revolving thing with everything evolving alongside it.
Her words drifted through the air, and he blinked in surprise, tilting his head to look at her before his lips curled in to an even more joyous smile. "I have many stories from my ventures... from a world long ago, too." His previous immortality was no secret that he kept hidden. If asked, he would speak about it freely, and how that upon stepping in to Novus, it had slipped off of his shoulders and left him mortal once more.
"It all depends on what you want to know. I can tell you any sort of story you can think of." Relic chuckled as he moved to step beside her, to allow himself to accompany her. "I am Relic, by the way. I might as well start with my name, hmm?" He chuckled as he shifted on those cloven hooves, beginning to walk with her once she started. There were many things he could tell her, could tell anyone, if all they did was ask.
I thought of angels choking on their halos get them drunk on rose water
His smile is sheepish and uncertain, and he seems genuinely sorry for running into her; such manners are rare, especially when she collides with people. He seems to be a bit of an old soul, though, gentle and perhaps soft-spoken, but that is just her first impression. She smiles benevolently; doesn’t want the poor thing to feel too bad about crashing into her. “You’re certainly a charming one. Really - don’t worry about it, hun,” She says, with a wink. “I’m sturdier than I look, and I wasn’t watching where I was going, either.” Pandora’s immortality was different than most, far more conditional. She knew what it felt like to die, over and over again, in any number of ways; as a result, in spite of her delicate stature, she considered herself rather resilient, though it crosses her mind that she might have to reconsider that now that an injury could cause her permanent damage, or snuff her candles out entirely. She didn’t want to think about that, though, not right now – she didn’t want to think about the darkness that consumed her whenever she died becoming her permanent state, not a short blink of transition between one life and the next.
Flower petals spin around them in a sweet-scented, downy cloud, and the sound of music fills the air. Pandora adores festivals, and all of their liveliness; the smile that had already situated itself across her lips grows, elated. Lovely company, a lovely setting, lovely music, and the sweet scent of flowers – who could ever ask for more? She isn’t a simple creature, nor a creature with simple desires, but she’s lived long enough to learn to appreciate happy moments while they last.
He agrees to her proposition, and there is something strangely familiar to the way he speaks of his homeland. Pandora’s met other immortals before, and she wonders if he’s like her, or just older than he looks; he couldn’t be all that much older than her, but she supposes that she can ask about that later. Best to start with the basics, set up the background for her story. “Relic – lovely name. I’m Pandora; you could say I’m also from a land far, far away, but I’ve been travelling for a very, very long time.” She hasn’t seen her homeland in what feels like – and probably has been – thousands of years. She still remembers it; when she thinks about it hard enough, she can still taste the sweetness of the oranges on her tongue or feel the warm water against her skin. “I feel like you have to know where someone’s from to get to know them…what’s your homeland called? What’s it like there?” Maybe she’s visited it – but there are countless lands out there, practically infinite ones. More likely than not, it’s another vast unknown.
Another traveler, it seemed, that crossed the borders of lands and took in the scenery. Perhaps she was like him in some degree, though he himself simply basked in the lands, learned what he could, stayed and made a home while he could, before the inevitable would occur. He had found life in many places, though only two he had stuck with longer than a few years. Both had vanished, claimed by nature once more, struck by disaster that he had lived through as others had succumbed and he had moved on with a heavy heart. Part of him hoped perhaps this land would be different. After all, he held the ropes of mortality now, and if something took this land, there was a large chance that he too, would go with it.
Shaking his thoughts gently, the kirin flicked his ears as he walked with her, keeping her on his good side and smiling slightly as he did, sharp teeth shown. "Well, Pandora," he started, stepping on cosmic hooves, weaving through the bodies with her, noting passing glances thrown his way. "My homeland.. no longer has a name. To think, I don't think it ever truly had a name in the beginning as it was.. it was just.. there. It was a wonderful place, though many dark tidings had enveloped it more than once..." He drew in a breath before letting it out as he walked, his gaze becoming slightly distant in his good eye.
"It used to be a lovely place, though millennia have passed, and it crumbled to the will of nature and time. It's not the first place to, nor the last, but it was the first I had experienced it." He offered a small smile, a twitching of his lips. "It was beautiful, but most lands are. Many faces were there that I could recall, but their names are dust on the wind, too far gone... just as they are."
I thought of angels choking on their halos get them drunk on rose water
She listens to him speak with obvious intrigue. A beautiful, nameless homeland. (Does she even remember the name of hers?) And now it was gone, like many other beautiful, nameless lands – for a moment, she thinks of her own home. It hasn’t been too long since she’s been back, but only for a moment, just long enough to bring her brother back, just long enough to be brought back. She never lingers. It isn’t beautiful now, and it isn’t home, even in the light of her mother’s flame. It should be a comfort, but, somehow, it only serves to exaggerate the darkness of the realm outside. Those sun-swept beaches and orange trees should never have been deprived of their guiding light, but her mother was bitter, once wronged; Pandora wonders if that land will ever see daytime again. “Were there any places, or people, that were especially important to you there?” It was always interesting, she thought, to discover what others valued. Pandora, in spite of her conditional immortality, was an inherently temporal creature – it seemed like nothing occupied her interest for very long. (But, in a world that would always wither away from her, becoming too invested in anything was dangerous and painful. She’d fallen in love countless times. She doesn’t remember when it stopped feeling like love and a little bit more like little more than another way to kill some time.) “Family, maybe?” That isn’t a safe question, and she knows it – Pandora had more than her fair share of family issues herself. However, it was precisely those family issues that made her so certain that family was one of those things that defined people…as long as they had one, anyways, and, even then, they were often defined by their lack. “You sound like you’ve travelled a lot…seen a lot of lands, from start to end.” She eyes him thoughtfully, and then, with complete nonchalance, adds, “Are you, perhaps, immortal?” as though it’s as simple and easy to believe as the blue of the sky or the green of the grass. (But she’s seen far stranger things in her long, long lifespan.) In spite of her willingness to ask invasive questions, Pandora isn’t necessarily quick to surrender too much information about herself, at least not anymore – it’s gotten her into trouble a few more times than she’d like, and not the kind of trouble she enjoys. She doesn’t want him to think her crazy, at best, and dangerous at worst, though she somehow doubts that either would be his reaction.
Perhaps he was a wandering ancient of some sort, Relic did not know. He knew that he had been immortal, but he did not remember his creation. Only that he.. was, with no parents, simply.. there. Time and space had forged him, had hammered out his dents and smoothed his rough edges, but he would never know what true family was save for the ones that he had once loved, a long long time ago.
Tilting an ear at her question, a slow smile spread over his lips. Places, or people, or family. Relic seemed to ponder that as they walked side by side, thinking back on days past. Oozora was a place he had held dear, his first land that he had claimed, the only land. "Once upon a time there was a place, a long long while ago. It's probably ashes and dust now, grown over by a cataclysm that wiped it away. Oozora, was the name, the first and only land I'd ever claimed and led." It was a soft admission as he spoke, and his eye moved to look at his company, smiling a little more. "As for family.. yes. I've had one, or two, but that was all. Fond memories that I've learned to enjoy, rather than let sadden me."
He was not startled by her assumption. Rather, Relic instead released a throaty laugh from the depths of his chest, a rumble of delight as his horned head bobbed slowly. "Yes, I am. Or, I was. That changed when I came to these lands, though I do not fear it. I've lived a long, long, time. Perhaps immortality will come to me again here, or maybe I will finally live out the rest of my lifespan here. I haven't the faintest idea." Either way, it was nothing that spooked him. "I've learned not to question the many things that fate has thrown at me."
He tilted his head then, and the old kirin glanced at his company at last. "And you? Were you immortal? Are you still?"
