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Played by Offline Rae [PM] Posts: 79 — Threads: 13
Signos: 570
Dawn Court Champion of Community
Male [He/Him/His] // 6 [Year 498 Spring] // 14 hh // Hth: 14 — Atk: 6 — Exp: 17 // Active Magic: Synesthesia // Bonded: N/A

Champion. Mateo was a champion. It hardly seemed a fitting title for a man who fought no battles, won no wars. As such, he did not feel fully comfortable with the newly granted title... but surely that would come with time… right?

And– did he really want to be comfortable, anyway? That’s all his life ever was, more or less, and what did he have to show for comfort? No growth, no pride, not a terrible amount of self respect. Comfort gave comfort, but, it would seem, little else.

And the problem with comfort is that it makes itself hard to let go of. So as planets in orbit will remain in orbit until some force veers them off course, Mateo’s path in life was charted entirely based on events set in motion years ago. And oh, what a comfortable path in life it was! 

Until, of course, today.

Anxiety and excitement are not as different as they first seem. Mateo doesn’t know which he is feeling as he leaves the court meeting. And as he walks the streets he knew as well as his own feathers, deep in contemplation on Life and its wildness, he keeps seeing a short black rump and tail just ahead of him, always turning the next corner. It was the new warden, the one he had not seen until just earlier that day. 

He does not think he means to follow. But he does follow, he certainly does. And with every step gained on the warden, Mateo grows more agitated. He could not explain why he was bothered by this man. And this lack of explanation only bothered him more.

(As narrator, I might speculate the short black pegasus felt threatened by another short black pegasus– one now with a higher station. As narrator, I am probably correct, although there is a small chance (1.2%, if the studies are true) that I am wrong.)

Left, left, right, left. They wound through the streets, Mateo slowly gaining on the other stallion, slowly growing more agitated, until he turned the corner and found himself face to face with the one named Andras.

It was not quite like looking in a mirror. But it was eerie enough that Mateo raised his wings instinctively in defense. “Oh!” His voice rang clear and boyish, a stone skipping across the quiet pond of Delumine. With his exclamation, the color orange swirls at the edge of the two stallions’ vision– a silly and oft unwanted magic trick. “Hello Warden.” His voice is not as gentle as it usually is, although the other would not know this. It still has a certain ripe-fruit softness to it. To his great annoyance, Mateo is physically incapable of unkindness. He nods his head deeply, respectful but a little curt. “I’m Mateo.

He bites the inside of his lip as his eyes search the other man's spectacled face. For once in his life, he did not know what else to say.

- - -
@Andras  I wanted to leave it open if Andras turned around to confront Teo, or if they finally stumbled into each other by happenstance <3 also, ugh, please excuse me as I wrestle my muse D:


Played by Offline Cannon [PM] Posts: 17 — Threads: 4
Signos: 925
Dawn Court Warden
Male [He/Him/His] // 4 [Year 500 Fall] // 14 hh // Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 13 // Active Magic: N/A // Bonded: N/A

Andras Demyan

"All you want to do is dance out of your skin into another song not quite about heroes, but still a song where you can lift your spear and say 'yes' as it flashes."
He sees Mateo, and the way he looks at Andras - which is to say, the way he doesn't; if Andras reacts at all it is only visible in the slight shift in the angle of light bounced off his lenses, as if to dare him. Hurt me, it says. Hit me. please. He cannot tell which he wants more: this trembling voice, the uncomfortable shifting of weight - or that attention turned on him, full of ire and pride.

But before he can start, before he can open his hateful mouth and beg, Ipomoea says, Warden.
Andras' molars squeak as his jaw twitches. The word sounds heavy, and noble - not for savage little shits like Andras, who are either a bleak, grim face or wolfish smiles with sneering lips and too much teeth. 

Thank you, he says, but maybe not out loud, and glances in Mateo's direction before walking back into the morning fog - another pegasus in tow.
For all the parts of him saying yes with a kind of glee he can only describe as unholy, there other parts, unfathomably small crevices that are whispering their worries into the marrow of his bones, his singing blood, that crackling rage that lives under his skin. Even after the meeting the city is quiet except for the clatter of their footsteps and a hushed voice or two that say why? or how? and bend their necks when Andras looks them directly in the eye.

And perhaps this is why Ipomoea said the word. Perhaps it because Andras is unapologetic and savage. Perhaps it is because of the singing hate. He doesn't know. He's not sure he wants to.

Andras cuts through the city with the practiced grace of a bird in flight and the clenched teeth of a dog waiting for the other shoe to drop. It is only when he reaches the steps of a small, two-story inn at the edge of the city center, already rumbling with the clank and drone of cooking and cleaning, that he turns to look across at the Court with its pale stone and its flower boxes hung in the window -- but instead he sees Mateo.
Andras tucks his wings tight against his side, as if to steel himself. Now even Mateo calls him Warden and Andras isn't sure if the hot prickling of his skin is shame or anger - or some unfortunate blend of both.

Either way, the look the warden gives the champion is withering. "Andras," he corrects, "It's a pleasure."

And it isn't, and it's obvious it isn't, really, but here they are on the steps of the inn nonetheless. 
"And you're our champion of community," Andras says, with a voice that sounds as stiff as he looks, "so you're here to... what? Commune? With me? I doubt that'll be fun for you."


they made you into a weapon
and told you to find peace.


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