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You are more than the sum of your past mistakes
Topic Started: Jul 11 2010, 10:06 PM (342 Views)
`Scoot
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"She has duct tape and chloroform and a map to your house in the back seat of her car. I thought that was a bit strange..."

You stupid, mindless excuse for a stallion...what have you done to yourself?

Soviet limped, dried blood caked across his shoulder and crackling with every movement. It flaked off and left a trail behind him denoting from whence he had come.

Stupid...stupid, stupid, foolish boy...

It had been wrong of him to seek out the dragon. Wrong in that he had not seen the object of his affections in many months. Wrong in that he should not bear such affection for her. Wrong in that the dragon owed him nothing, and he should not expect Kestrel to help. It was still unclear to the injured white stallion whether the dragon was on the Kormadians' side or against, and the fact unnerved him even as it encouraged him to risk his life to see the dragon. To ask for his help. For Cutlass.

That the crippled bay mare could be on his mind so often disquieted the once stately Soviet. Where was she? What had she been doing since they had parted ways? Was she with another stallion? His frown deepened as a wave of jealousy washed over him at the thought of Cutlass belonging to someone else. Then he shook his head. This was nonsense. Nonsense! How did he even know the cripple was still alive? And here he was, limping home after quite literally having risked his life to save a mare whose own was not even certain to exist.

I will bring guards the next time I come here. Kestrels minions will not maim me again.

He winced as he stumbled in a small dip in the earth, the movement tearing open part of the wound on his shoulder again and allowing fresh blood to stain his white fur. The border to the world beyond Kestrel's Keep was not far, and Soviet desperately needed rest.

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This is a CLOSED topic for Kim and I ONLY! This has nothing to do with the plot against Kestrel, so please do not post in this thread. Kestrel is not welcome here either. Thanks!

Edited by `Scoot, Jul 11 2010, 10:11 PM.
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kimmys
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Poparazzi's gaze, as transluscent as it was, studied the face of her great-great grandaughter as she slept, taking note of the way her whiskers moved when she breathed and the way her eyes often clenched shut as though to block out whatever it was she was dreaming of. The pinto ancestress could invade her dreams, it would be easy with the young mare vulnerable in her slumber, but she could guess the content of Lass' nightmares. Lately it had been the same dream over and over again; it would start out with poor Lass swollen with pregnancy, en route to the Sector to see her father. Somewhere along the way a scarmaker would attack, killing Sake first. Somehow Soviet would arrive, like he always did, and he would be taken out by Kestrel himself. Lass always blacked out before she woke up, and today would be no exception. Pop could count the rapid pace of her breath, hear the panicked flutter of her heartbeat just a moment before two brown eyes opened with shock and fear and pain written clearly in them.

Cutlass groaned, her eyes fluttering shut again for a moment. She hated this feeling of weakness – between dreaming about the arrogant gray nearly every night and having been waiting here to meet him for a little over a week, she was almost ready to kill the guy for all the stress he was inadvertantly causing her. Petulantly she ignored her ghostly companion as she rolled onto her chest and lurched drunkenly onto her feet, moving gingerly as the bones within groaned at the weight. They were much less sore than they had been only yesterday, and Lass assumed she be as close to normal as was possible for her by tomorrow.

He'll be here soon. The mare's eyes flickered to Pop with a hint of uncertainly that was quickly covered up by flippant irriation. “Yippee.”

Cutlass was about to expand upon just what exactly she thought of herself and of Soviet when she caught sight of the stallion she was about to bad mouth. Her mouth immediately closed and tightened into a frown as she took in his torn shoulder and the painfully slow way with which he moved. Her black rimmed ears tilted backwards and she waffled for a moment whether to cross the Kestrel border or to let him come to her. The latter would be safer of course, although Kestrel wasn't exactly bound by territory lines, so she whickered quietly for him, knowing that if her voice didn't carry that far, Poparazzi would intervene to capture his attention.
Edited by kimmys, Jul 11 2010, 11:25 PM.
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`Scoot
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"She has duct tape and chloroform and a map to your house in the back seat of her car. I thought that was a bit strange..."


Something told him he was not alone here. He couldn't see or hear anything, or even smell--it was a deep feeling, a tugging from his left side that made him turn his head in that direction. He was not out of Kestrel's Keep just yet, but the border was well within reach. In sight, moreover. He could practically step across it. But something held him back. Something told him that if he left now, he would have missed something of dire importance. His ears flattened as he looked in the other direction, searching out signs of another assailant.

Though he would never admit it, hardly even to himself, this land terrified the white stallion beyond comprehension. There was such evil here, in this place that had once been home to many herds. Kestrel had taken it over when he had arrived, and only a select few individuals knew that he had killed the herds to do so. Soviet knew because he had stumbled across the remains before the dragon had burned them into powder.

He could not understand why that knowledge was not enough to convince himself that Kestrel's purpose here was in no way good for the Kormadians. Still he clung desperately to the belief that the dragon had some amount of good in him, and that in time he would compensate the Kormadians for what he had so wrongfully stolen from them.

Sensing no danger, only a strange feeling of familiarity, Soviet leaned more heavily against his tree, still refraining from leaving the Keep. His shoulder ached, but he knew better than to lay down. If he did, it was unlikely he would have been able to get up again, or even remain alive long enough to do so. The predators here took to resting meals like piranhas. Taking a chance, Soviet let out a whinny.

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kimmys
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It was strange to watch the white stallion from afar, having been on the other end of such a study before. From here she could watch him without the fear of a snarky comment or his irritating way of getting under her skin with minimal effort. Why she cared for him at all was beyond her, but Lass was done arguing with herself on this point. Like it or not, Soviet meant something more to her than just a passing face, and regardless of how she disdained love, she wasn't ready to throw whatever this was away.

It was quite near torture for the bay to stand there and see him suffer, but she didn't want to cross the boundary line. Finally she moved forward again, her gait a loud enough shuffle that she probably caught his attention long before they were on the same plane of sight, her gaze guarded and ears tipped backward with a hesitancy that wasn't really her style. Finally, she spoke, somehow combining her sire's constant concern for those he cared about with her dam's witchy way of covering up her feelings.

“Look, we match.” The bay mare didn't immediately close the distance between them, preferring to let the tension build as though it would help her organize her emotions and dissuade her face from betraying her. It was ridiculous that she should care for this graying stallion, that any part of her would desire to clean the wound on his shoulder, but that didn't make much of a difference. A sigh wound its way out her nostrils as an attempt to shut off her thoughts, it obviously didn't work well.

“What happened, Soviet?” Her voice was blasè, bordering on uncaring, although she doubted that he'd believe her. Unfortunately, Lass had a habit of being ruled by her emotions.
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`Scoot
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"She has duct tape and chloroform and a map to your house in the back seat of her car. I thought that was a bit strange..."


Soviet recognized the familiar sound of her gait at once. Second, he saw her. Third, he cast her such a scowl that he was suddenly uncertain if he cared for her at all.

"You were not meant to find me here Cutlass," he spat, still leaning against his tree inside the border to Kestrel's Keep. "Not in this...condition...especially. But," he added, "if your curiosity is that insatiable so that you must strive to know every detail of another's business, I will tell you that it was one of Kestrels hounds. Ordinarily the beasts are well-mannered, but this time one saw fit to take me for a threat." He grumbled to himself for several moments after he finished speaking aloud, his voice raspy and dry with fatigue. When he had quite finished with his grumblings, he took a moment to glance over Cutlass' form.

Her legs were just as he remembered them, twisted and able to remind him of the trunks of two trees after a windstorm. Beyond that she seemed unharmed, and so he was relieved. And, he told himself, that she was wandering alone impressed that she was still free to do so. Therefore she was unlikely to be with another stallion. He could not conceal the sigh that left his lungs, dismissing from his body the tension and uncertainty just a few minutes earlier. Soviet then noticed an absence, and he immediately questioned her.

"Where is your ill-tempered spook friend? Surely you did not leave home without her?"

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kimmys
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Cutlass could not deny that she cared for Soviet, most of the time, but right now she wished she was strong enough to maim him. How dare he scowl at her as though she were the last creature she wanted to see? He had placed the claim and demanded that she stick around, much to her irritation. Both ears pressed flat against her poll and her plain head raised with righteous indignation.

“The last I checked, by claiming me, you became my business, Soviet. Remove your stake and I'll be on my merry way.” Arrogantly her head raised, although the movement has less effect coming from her crippled body than it would from his. Beyond her forelegs being twisted, the faint outline of her ribs disrupted the smoothness of her coat, a product of worrying about the same stallion she'd like to pulverize now.

“Of course she's here somewhere, I'm not clairvoyant on my own.” A derisive snort punctuated the end of her statement and she cast a wary glance over her shoulder. Pop was supposed to stay away once Soviet appeared, that was part of the bargain. Lass would do as the spirit wished and trekk out to meet her claimer, but she refused to let the pinto memory disrupt the meeting again. It seemed like every time Soviet and Poparazzi were together, all conversation halted to make way for childish taunting. When no ghostly shadow appeared, the bay mare sighed and shuffled forward a few more paces, wincing as a sharp stone got caught beneath the rim of her hoof.

She didn't speak, and she didn't come within a distance close enough for him to touch her, but she felt vaguely less exposed being able to talk at a quieter level.
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`Scoot
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"She has duct tape and chloroform and a map to your house in the back seat of her car. I thought that was a bit strange..."


Glaring at her and then pricking his ears forward briefly in surprise upon hearing Cutlass' voice, the silvery stallion formed his response.

"What is this nonsense of which you speak Cutlass? I am fairly certain I would remember having place a claim on such a cripple as yourself." He scanned her up and down and then snorted derisively. "But since you are offering..." A cold chuckle left his throat this time, and he removed his weight from the tree, shifting it to his three good legs while keeping the injured leg bent and weight-free. "And," he added, "since you have managed to drag yourself all the way out here just so that you could, as far as I can tell, see me, I suppose I should feel honored. I know it must have been difficult."

To the closely listening stranger, there could be heard a strange and out-of-character note of sincerity in those last few words, and maybe even the hint of an ulterior motive.

I can only hope that ghostly fool cannot read minds, he thought to himself, but it would be interesting to see how she reacted were she to know my injuries are present because of the cripple herself. As the unwelcome conclusion of his thought passed through his mind, the white stallion pinned his ears and curled his nostrils, tossing his head upward briefly and then glaring at the ground as though it were crawling with a thousand leeches.

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kimmys
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Despite the fact that her black rimmed ears were pressed firmly backward, the bay had no trouble hearing what Soviet had to say. And as little as she would like to admit it, his words cut deeper this time. Strange that the word cripple coming from his mouth would even bother her anymore, as it was an insult he repeated often. However, there was no denying the sharp sudden pain in her gut that told her she'd be crying over this later; luckily, thanks to the volatile combination of her genetics, her first and immediate reaction was an anger so intense it made her shake.

“In other words, you say you have no legitimate claim on myself, which leaves me free to,” she cut herself off with the remembrance of the fact that she didn't have many freedoms to begin with, before Soviet came into the picture. “Free to do something other than wait on you. As for feeling honored, you can forget it, I did not come here for you, Soviet. I came here as a favor to an ancestress of mine who has an unfortunate fascination with the things that are worst for myself and my family.” As they had, of course, already proven by allowing Sake and Stiletto to be set up in the first place.

“You've made your position clear Soviet, and now I'll choose my own. You don't want me, and I've had enough of your insults. Keep your secrets and continue practicing your lies, but stay away from me.” Her voice had dropped into a snarl and as a defense mechanism, her eyes had gone dark to hide the pain she was causing herself. It felt wrong to leave Soviet, especially considering he was standing there with blood dripping down his shoulder, but she felt as though she were sacrificing a vital part of herself by staying. And Cutlass was only given so much of herself to share to begin with.

Tearing her gaze away from his she rocked on her haunches, intending to do the same awkward half-pirouette she resorted to in the rare occasions she had to, only to find that there was little room for her to do so on either side. Of course, she grumbled mentally. Lass would either have to back away awkwardly, which was hardly an option considering the mild slope she stood on which would throw most of her weight onto her twisted forelegs. Her only other option would be to continue downward and pass the grey stallion, which was something she definitely did not want to do. It only took the survival side of Lass' brain a moment to figure out her only option – downward – if she wanted to make the trek... well not home, now that she apparently didn't have one. Perhaps to the Sector; she could visit her father that way, if he was still clinging to life.
Edited by kimmys, Jul 13 2010, 10:24 PM.
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`Scoot
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"She has duct tape and chloroform and a map to your house in the back seat of her car. I thought that was a bit strange..."


Soviet's dark eyes settled on Cutlass as an infinitesimal wisp of hurt flashed across her very stance, though she was evidently straining to repress and conceal it. But his gaze was perceptive, and he suddenly realized he'd used the word he'd promised himself he'd not use beyond the confines of his own private mind: cripple.

It was apparent that the word stung her, and while a part of him strongly believed that Cutlass had to learn not to let mere words affect her so, another--and perhaps more sensible--portion of his being reminded him that this was no way to convince the mare to join him. He snorted, angry at himself when he realized he could have simply gone along with Cutlass' belief that he had officially laid claim to her and have been done with it altogether. Why had he not just done that?

Because you want her to remain of her own free will, you great white galoot.

Surprised by the intensity of the thought, the stallion swayed slightly on his legs as he tried to regain his composure. Cutlass was, after having expelled some sharp comments his way, turning to leave, and he knew if he allowed her to do so now, he would never see her again. You thought that last time too.

"Cutlass, what else is out there for you?" he called suddenly, his tone softening only in the slightest. "Where have you to go? To your family, Cutlass? To your disturbed mother, who wanted nothing more than to kill you upon first sight? Or to your father, who, in addition to forever ensuring the Haunts were there to follow and harass you, is not even certain to be alive anymore? You know that your chances with other stallions are slim.

"Yet, here you aim to walk away from the one piece of this wretched planet that hasn't done you any serious harm, and whom is willing to give you a halfway decent place of residence. I am not accustomed to feeling...attached to another being, Cutlass, and so I do not always act as you might expect. And for that I am truly sorry, but I am a defensive creature, and that is how I shall remain."


He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in, and then added, "I am going to return to my home. If you follow me I will stake my claim upon you. If you do not, you will never hear from me again. The choice is yours, Cutlass. Remember that your spectral friend does not approve of me. Perhaps, then, I am not the 'worst' thing out there for you."

He began to turn, seeking a different way out of the Keep that did not involve any hills, but his lumbering pace gave her plenty of time to answer.

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kimmys
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Cutlass' body was still shaking with chaotic emotion, swinging from highly vulnerable to violent in mere seconds. Why had she never seen through his veneer before? Obviously Soviet had never been good for her – he was controlling and pushy and rude – so why waste time on him now? It would be best if she left now before he could convince her with his conniving ways, but her only option, until the white stallion moved, was to go within reaching distance and she didn't like the sound of that either.

It didn't matter, however, what her desires were as soon as Soviet resumed speaking. Apart from the brutal honesty of what he said, the cruelty she imagined dripping from every word made her earlier emotional discomfort seem like a paper cut next to being sawed in half. Uncertainty flashed in her brown eyes and her skin drained to the equine equivalent of bone pale. Her ears loosened their hold against her mane and one painfully twisted foreleg is lifted in indecision, as though the crippled bay mare would like nothing more in this world than to flee from his white form and be done with life in general. A rational part of Cutlass' mind knew that she was going overboard, but her exhaustion from the trip and her own struggles with deciding how she felt about Soviet were further complicating the bombs he was tossing her way. Still, it is somewhat to Lass' credit that she does not speak and dig herself into a deeper hole, when she has already lost sight of the sun at the top.

She stands there in a state of numb confusion, staring blankly at this stallion who continually shocked her. The anger had drained out of her body, leaving it wilted like a flower plucked from a bush and left on the sidewalk to die. Silence reigned as he turned and began to move away, her brown eyes closing with enough pain to force tears down her cheeks. “I hate him.” She whispered softly enough that only her ears, caved backwards once more, could catch the syllables.

You don't hate him, Poparazzi materialized suddenly at her side, her voice both soothing and strained. When Lass didn't immediately respond, a flash of uncertainty flickered in the haunt's eyes – apparently they hadn't figured on his much of an emotional toll. He does have a point--

”Do you think I don't know that?” Cutlass' voice was a low hiss that cut across the distance seperating the two and effectively silenced the haunt. ”Do you think I am unaware of just how worthless I am? I mean, you remember my mother, it's not as though she was exactly shy about showing me how useless I am.”

The haunt frowned, but was not dissuaded from trying to glaze over the newest damage. It was like Sake and Stiletto again, except the haunts had no control over the dominant male in the equation, and no bartering chip with which to persuade the damsel. All three of them – Soviet, Cutlass and the whole body of haunts – were floundering in the metaphorical dark with this relationship and it made the pinto haunt shudder to feel normal again. She hated feeling blind and helpless, especially when it was her relative in question. You've never been useless, Cutlass. And-- she gave the bay a warning look before she could interrupt, answering the rebuttal before it was voiced. --yes, a lot of the haunt's interest in you, them, not me, is that you are the only one who could potentially carry on the line. And that is important to them, you know that. Your brother, Blade was not born in the Sector and has no ties to us. We cannot touch him, and your twin is nowhere to be found. You are everything to us right now, but that would change if you could supply them with a real heir that they could raise.

Cutlass' eyes squeezed shut and her head shook frantically. ”I can't do that! I hated my mother for leaving me; I can't do that to a helpless foal even if I was given absolutely no choice but to have one.” An urgency quickened in her tone. ”But thats not even the issue, Pop. Your manic desire for a foal from a cripple is a side dish to the fact that you want me to live with that abusive psychopath. Don't you understand?! I love him and I hate him at the same time – it's like I hate myself for loving him and I can't stop! I don't want this, I never wanted this. I watched love ruin my father and I don't - want – it – to - happen – to – me.” Her voice had grown insistent toward the end, although she tried to keep it low. Lass could no longer see Soviet, but it would be just her luck that he would somehow overhear the one-sided conversation she was having.

Sadness flooded the face of the pinto mare, if only you could see yourself Cutlass. Sure, the pain now is great and you are afraid, but do you remember what it was like before he came? Because I can.

Cutlass' eyes fell closed again and she breathed deeply, great heaving sighs that were normally a precursor to hyper ventilation. Finally, when her breaths had slowed she nodded. ”I remember.”

Back to the Rift then. The haunts voice was quiet, and when the pair started moving again, she allowed words to echo in the bay mares mind before she disappated to check on other mysterious haunt business. He did say he was attached.
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