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the zealous hearts don't love you; and that's not gonna change || dark mare
Topic Started: Jun 24 2013, 03:17 PM (498 Views)
alittlelamb
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i'll dig a tunnel from my window to yours.
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x


To say she's on edge is, well, a bit of an understatement.

If you ask her once if she's nervous, she'll up-and-down deny it. Ask her again and she'll hit you, but truth be told: Yes, Wendla is the tiniest bit nervous. Today is something of a turning point, a fresh page free of any marks; and while it might not determine her whole future, it will decide most of it and that's a harrowing concept to wrap a mind around. Not to mention she has virtually no control over how any of this unfolds -- all she can do, really, is react. Such is the plight of a female, perpetually doomed to walk the globe under the boats of males, fumbling around trying to discern between what's a worm and what's a lure, constantly feeling like a complicated metaphor.

Her movement is uncharacteristically jerky, exactly as loud and vibrant as it is usually is smooth and unobtrusive. Some would say it's a product of nerves, but some would be wrong, because Wendla knows what she's doing. You see, her idea is that, if she calls attention to herself, more stallions will take notice and approach, therefore widening her options. It's got a high rate of backfiring but, then again, standing around mumbling songs about princes doesn't seem like a very good approach either.

She crashes through the brambles at the forest's edge and breaks out into the hazy light of early morning. Wendla pauses a moment, assesses, then starts forward again towards a small tree just a little ways out into the meadow. Out in the open, easily visible, but not entirely vulnerable. The soft light reflects off the warm red-brown of her body, the wind catching at her dark mane and twisting it over her face. She comes to a rest underneath the tree, because while the shade isn't necessary so early in the day, there's no telling how long she'll have to be here.

please don't go, i'll eat you whole
(i love you so, i love you so)
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between the click of the lock,
and the start of the dream.

| previously rhythm/riddikulus |
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TheIceViking
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Image © Design Sport Horse
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I shall comfort you so fear no evil, as you know:
I shall guide you. I will lead you.
The stallion had arrived an hour ago or so. The spotted stallion had decided to make a trip to the homeless, the trip wasn't a long one. His territory was very close to the homeless grounds but the fact that the stallion had to swim over here had caused him some pain. Even though the stallion was only five years old he felt like his heart was a old one. Some time ago the stallion had thought this was only temporarily but his heart seemed to be getting worse. Therefor when the stallion arrived he had found a shelter under a tree on the meadow and taken a quick nap. The grass was tall and the only things visible from distance was his back and head.

The stallion decides to begin his search for a new mare. He was unsure of what he was looking for, just someone that would stay with him and be loyal to him. It still caused the stallion depression to think about Hastati and when she left to give birth to his first offspring, but never returned. He often wondered what it was, he had nightmares about her getting attacked and it also passed his mind that another stallion had stolen her. The stallion pushes himself to his feet and begins his search. Some feet away the stallion notices a mare coming out of the forest nearby. The mares energy made the stallion curious about the bay mare. His ears pricked forward and his eyes were focused on the bay mare. The varnish roan stallion slowly starts to walk towards the mare and he watches her as she waits under a tree. It didn't take the stallion a long time to approach the mare since he had been nearby.

"Hello, my name is Rhône of Celestial Docks"

The stallion speaks with a deep voice but still a soft and calm voice. He waits patiently for her to either share her name or show her reaction.
Hybrid • 15.2 hands • Dark • Celestial Docks
Edited by TheIceViking, Jun 30 2013, 03:57 PM.
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Pearl • Durin • Izabella
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`d e p p
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I think everybody's nuts.
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and a larger version of the beautiful boy<3
"I keep running into walls that I can't break down,
I said I just wander around
I'm a sleepwalker walker."

To put it simply: I feel pathetic.

My nerves play with me; not fluttering lightly through my stomach like they had when I had entered the battle grounds, batting softly like butterflies, but thrashing through my abdomen like ravenous beasts, paralyzing my muscles and clearing my mind of anything but my name. I stand victim to their terrible whims, covering myself in the thin forest that surrounds me. Really, it shouldn’t be all that surprising—for the past three years, this has been my home, the isolated shadows and lonely beating of my heart. I had never really expected to leave my solitude behind, as satisfied as I thought I was, but my plans took an unexpected turn when Papillon had wandered back into my life. Her presence had awakened me to the craving for company that had lain hidden for a very long time, and while I never thought that herd life would be my forte, seeing her small happy herd had my mind reeling in directions I had long forbidden of myself. And here I am.

A sigh rolls across the line of my shoulders, and I flick my long tail around my hocks as I shift my weight, attempting to ease the tension that writhes inside of me. This is my first time coming to the Homeless grounds, and it seems as though it embodies every rumor that I’ve heard. A repulsiveness is already harbored for its wretched borders, though I’m sure my anxiety has something to do with it; even so, it seems to be a miserable place. Why come here, then? Well, with Lead Duchy now successfully—and, thank all that is holy, peacefully—under my claim, I find the rock-ridden terrain to be quite dull with just myself to sustain its life. Papi is close to me, though I think it is hardly acceptable to always be at her side, and while I approve of Relic, I don’t particularly find his company all that desirable for me.

Flaring my dark nostrils and closing my eyes in a long blink, I venture from the forest’s shadowy protection. Prime’s light falls to embrace this lowly planet in the warm tendrils of spring, breathing life and threading rejuvenation into the rigidness that winter had left behind. Wordlessly I observe what unfolds before me, only the sharp flick of my tail a sign of my battering nerves. There are several clusters of equines, mares and stallions mingling in the game of wits and charm. One side of my brow rises slightly with this scene, and a scornful sigh curls my nostrils before I saunter forward in no particular direction.

It is then, wrapped up as I am in trying to isolate myself from these petty quandaries, that she catches my eye. Her bright bay coat and sleek figure are not what steals my attention, but rather her movements—erratic, jumpy, and screaming for attention as she bounds through the masses to settle comfortably on her own perch. I pause in my step, my head tilting just faintly to the side as a grin softens the grim line of my lips. It is almost comical, the way she calls upon herself, and while I am not sure this fire that surely ignites her is pleasant, I appreciate the breath of change that she has offered and decide to approach. Unfortunately, by the time I reach her another stallion has already settled himself before her to steal her attention. My ears flick back momentarily in my slight frustration, but his arrival does not deter me; this is what it’s all about, isn’t it?

I come to complete the triangle, my attention first drawing to the lady as I recognize her with a slight inclination—if not a little woodenly—of my head. A brief glance is cast to acknowledge the other stallion, my features stoic, but not disgusted or aggressive. I have not come here to make enemies, though my purpose here is for the mare, and so friendly intentions with my…opponent, if you will, are also out of the question; woo the mare or not, and get out—that is all I want. An amiable grin ghosts over my dark lips as the mare becomes my focus, the gesture not quite reaching to lighten the brooding depths of my eyes. “That was quite the dance,” I refer to her earlier loud traipsing, my deep tone almost making the statement a compliment, a shadowing smirk becoming slightly more prominent. Shifting my weight, my faintly striped sides heave in a hushed inhale, my heart rate elevated even as I control my features into a smooth expression. “My name is Aeson, of Lead Duchy,” I do not ask for her name in return, assuming that the other stallion has already inquired of it; or if he hasn’t, I presume that she will reveal the information with time.

Another deep breath; all I can do now is wait and see how the situation will unfold itself.

zebroid hybrid stallion . seal bay w/striped legs . brown eyes . neutral . 16hh
A E S O N
rowan x siason
Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum!
#EpicStrut

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paper faces on parade;
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ƒierce
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i've not yet begun to defile myself.
MARTYRDON'T ASK ME TO BLEED ABOUT IT; I NEED THIS BLOOD TO SURVIVE
The uniquely-colored male moves forward with confident strides. His white face turns right then left; this movement is slow as he searches for mares to speak with. The seven year-old stallion was finally making his move to forming his own herd. It would have been foolish of him to wait any longer, especially if he was waiting until he got back in the Province. As he meanders about the island, a red sort of brown mare catches his attention. The bright blue shade of his eyes follows her actions, her crashing through the forest's brambles and then coming out into a meadow. His corn-spotted form follows hers, only to find not one but two other stallions approaching her.

Martyr does not speak at first; his blue roan overo form moves slowly toward them, managing to be close when they spoke their names and lands. The black of his lip twitches when he notices the stripes on the more solidly colored stallion, Aeson. This could be a son of Rowan's, a stallion he had tried to ally with. Perhaps this son would be more interested than his sire before him. The raven length of his tail swishes against his hocks and gaskins thoughtfully; neither of the other young stallion had asked after her name. The Mustang Hybrid inclines his white face to her, low tenor voice vocalizing his name and a question. "Hello. My name is Martyr; I come from Loon Echo Lake. Might I inquire after your name?" He makes no other move, besides casting a vague sort of smile of greeting toward the rather plain-colored mare.

HERE'S ONE YOU DON'T COMPROMISE; LIES COME HARD IN DISGUISEmale . blue roan overo . mustang hybrid . 15.3 hands . dark . loon echo lake
ƒierce   (adj.)   ferocious; bold; intense; dauntless
if i am chaos, then you are the storm inside of me
Aura | Fatale | Harlem | Phalaenopsis
Shikari | Shtriga | Vervain | Vitae
Carnivean | Finnigan | İskender
Lir | Martyr | Sonste | Thames
28 || adoptions -- log -- mare plotting -- to do list Asylum | Flannery | Hoarfrost | Israël | Magdalena | Rivulet| Salvatore
Sears | Stheno | Tribulation | Vermillion -- ( up for adoption )
Hollow | Ristian | Sémillon -- ( potentially adoptable )
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alittlelamb
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i'll dig a tunnel from my window to yours.
It must say something about the state of society that a mare as plain as herself only has to wait literal minutes before the tides are washing to shore. Now, Wendla isn't stupid. She knows she's nondescript, that stallions tend to prefer flashier girls who incite envy every time someone glimpses them from a border. But what she lacks in eye-catching...ness, she makes up for in personality! (No.) (She really doesn't.) So she is perhaps a little surprised when she is approached as quickly as she is, though you'd never now it by the withering up-and-down she gives her very first suitor as he strolls on up to her.

He's not like anything she's seen before, certainly. More stunning than herself, which maybe to anyone else would be cause for celebration, but for Wendla is more of a stab directly to the pride (important body part). The stallion has a curious air about him -- doesn't seem outright awful she supposes -- so she gives him the benefit of the doubt for a while. Wendla doesn't exactly smile, per say, but her eyes stay bright and that's about all the effort she can manage.

He introduces himself simply, a name and a location that mean absolutely nothing to her, but kudos for no fanfare because god knows how grating that can be. She is on the tip of responding when her eye catches on another approaching figure. "Sweet heaven help me," she says under breath, hopefully too quiet for Rhône to catch. This one is also disgustingly interesting to look at: a bay like herself, but darker, with ... those are stripes. Okay. Her surprise definitely shows on her face this time, widening of the eyes quickly disguised but noticeable nonetheless. But in all honesty she doesn't care if she offends him (and thinks he's probably used to it, so).

That was quite the dance, he jokes, smirking. Wendla's eyes roll before his lips quiet close around the last word. She sighs gently as he introduces himself as well. Do they really expect that she knows what these territory name means? Usually it's only the influential lines that know much of anything about the lay of the land, and they probably know she has not a drop of important ("important") blood in her. Whatever. She won't comment so she doesn't hinder their pride (again, important body part). "I wouldn't call it a dance," she counters sharply, tea-colored eyes hard as she looks Aeson in the face.

Again, she's right set up to finally tell them her name too and maybe a pithy comment about where she's from ("Four hours from here and then seven from wherever you are after those four") when another stallion shows up. Another roan, too, just as aesthetically pleasing as the two. "I swear to this planet," she growls, not even bothering to pitch her voice too low to hear this time. This one is quiet a moment, observing, before he introduces himself a touch more politely than the last two. Martyr also asks after her name, giving her a hazy sort of smile that she counters with a pinched brow. "You might, but it doesn't mean I'll give it to you." Her words are punctuated coldly, with a sideways quirk of her head. Wendla glances around the now-square of them, already tired of this sad little game -- who even came up with concept and can she have a quick word (read: fight) with them?

She lets out a whistling, controlled breath to let her company know once again that's not particularly pleased right now, then raises her eyes and looks each of them squarely in the face. "My name is Wendla, and I'm sure the pleasure is all yours, boys."

please don't go, i'll eat you whole
(i love you so, i love you so)
Edited by alittlelamb, Jul 7 2013, 09:36 PM.
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between the click of the lock,
and the start of the dream.

| previously rhythm/riddikulus |
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TheIceViking
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(Sorry for the wait, but I will have to pull Rhone out of that topic. Lets just say he had to be somewhere but had forgotten about it or something.)
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