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| a castaway; for aeson | |||
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 18 2014, 10:24 AM (329 Views) | |||
| devotchka | May 18 2014, 10:24 AM Post #1 | ||
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WELL SWEET MOTHER TERESA ON THE HOOD OF A MERCEDES BENZ
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VEXARE ' look inside, look past the guarded walls of me ' ________________________________________________________ The death of her parents had affected her more than she first thought. Vexare has always been straight-forwards in these matters. Everything, and everyone, has to die. No one wants to believe it when it is your own kin. Her parents had always been so virtuous, so in love and kind to the world and everything in it. Her grandparents had also vanished, and so the creamy mare had left Border Springs with no friend in the world. Her mother had always spoken of her extensive family, however, she had never met any of them. If she knew who any of her aunts and uncles were, Vexare would have probably tried to find them. Ironically, these relatives would remain shadowy faces to her, and she must continue her life alone. In the sunlight of the late afternoon that glimpses through the shards of foliage, her coat is almost white. The tobiano patches she was born with are more or less invisible, such is the shade of her perlino coat. She is considered beautiful, and for this reason Vexare has stayed far away from the likes of the homeless grounds. Her dam always spoke of them with such disdain, and also pride that she had never been sucked into them, and so the Warmblood hybrid has that same apprehension instilled in her. However, she hates the solitude more than anything, and knows this will someday be her fate. She has been skirting her way round Kormada, the passing lands becoming a blur, but she has to admit this one is beautiful. The scent of stallion is stronger in these woods than in other places, so she assumes it is claimed, and will continue to move through the forest, hopefully unseen. The trees give way with no warning and the pale mare winces as she steps into the sunlight, covering her bright blue eyes with her lashes as they become accustomed to the sudden light. In front of her lie two huge towers, possibly one of the biggest monuments she has ever seen. The history of what came before the equids fascinates Vexare and she steps towards the ruins in fascination, although her tear shaped ears remain pricked and watchful of anything unsavoury. She makes her way closer, her legs climbing the slight hill they are placed upon until she is at the bottom, craning her delicate head back to see the top. ‘Whoah…’ She says, in barely a whisper to anyone else but herself. |
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| `d e p p | May 19 2014, 03:17 PM Post #2 | ||
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I think everybody's nuts.
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![]() and a larger version of the beautiful boy<3 ___________________________________________________________________________________________ A E S O N Let me out of this dream . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Having already completed trekking the borders of the Weeping Towers, I stand still now, located in no particular part of my land. I linger at the fringes of the thick forest near the boundaries of my domain, with my dark eyes looking beyond. There is little else that meets my gaze other than a continuation of the forest, playing with their mottle shadows, bowing slightly at their tips with the autumn breeze that dances through the cold air. Really, I’m not sure what I am looking at either— perhaps I am looking for something. My mares are settled safely behind me, tucking themselves into the heavy forest that dots a majority of this land, and so it not of them that my mind worries. At least right now. I repress a sigh, but the warmth of my breath escapes all the same, forming a plume of pale smoke that writhes slowly from my dark nostrils. Long years have come and gone since I have seen her last, my dearest sister, and hardly a day has come and gone that I have not thought of her. No, not thought of—worried over. I refuse to reminisce about the times that we have shared together, of the happiness that I had seen on her face when I had found her at last, and the relief I had felt to find that she had found a kind stallion to settle with. I cannot reminisce of all that—doing so, for me, would be an unconscious acknowledgement that she is gone; and I can’t do that, not yet. Instead I have sought to find her, focusing on the events of her disappearance rather than the other possibilities that haunt me. Papillion is the only member of my family (I use this term loosely) that I care for. While Akita had been nothing but kind to me after my mother’s death, I never will look to her as a mother, and feel little ties to her now. My father is an entirely different matter. Only a dark shadow in my memory, I wish not to see him again; only that brightness has managed to blossom from his darkness, in the form of siblings like Papillion, gives me any hope for my own future. Pursing my lips and shaking my head, the length of my dark tail flicks sharply against my muscled flanks, and I turn to walk away, angled in no specific direction. One day I will find my sister again, I have to. In the meantime, I will look after my precious mares, care for them, and protect them with all that I can. It is only the scent of a stranger that draws me from my heavy brooding, and thrusting the gloomy thoughts away, I lurch forward to investigate. Whoever it is must have crossed over a section of the borders after I had already covered it. My ears initially flatten in both alarm and determination to defend, but once I allow my head to clear, I am able to distinguish the scent as a mare and not a stallion. To say that this realization is a relief would be an understatement. Still, I follow the trail, which I know is leading me to the two large hallmarks of this sacred territory. Sure enough, it is not too long before the trees give way to a round clearing, all which surround the two ancient towers—and the stranger at their base. I slow to a trot as I approach the pale mare, glowing softly beneath the tender grasp of Prime’s bright rays. Coming up behind her, I slow further to a walk. “They are magnificent,” I say, glancing up to their primordial stones before fixing the mare with a bemused expression, “aren’t they?” Halting just behind her at her side, part of my brow rises in silent question, holding her for a moment before I speak again, “Can I help you?” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ‘I can't turn this around, I keep running into walls that I can't break down — LET ME OUT OF THIS DREAM.’ zebroid hybrid stallion . rowan x siason . seven years old . seal bay w/striped legs . brown eyes . neutral . 16hh |
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Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum! #EpicStrut ![]() paper faces on parade; | |||
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| devotchka | Jun 12 2014, 04:59 AM Post #3 | ||
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WELL SWEET MOTHER TERESA ON THE HOOD OF A MERCEDES BENZ
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VEXARE ' look inside, look past the guarded walls of me ' ________________________________________________________ MOTHER would have loved it, is Vexare’s next reaction. She misses her dam like nothing else, she never imagined it would be this lonely. The grulla mare had always spoken about places she had travelled to throughout Kormada, alongside Vexare’s aunt, and there had always been an element of pride in her tone. Having wandered since the breakdown of the herd in Border Springs, the creamy mare can now appreciate how fulfilling this kind of life can be. However, she yearns for that same sense of community she felt with her family, and perhaps it is time to give up the chase and resign herself to looking for a new home. There was no conversation about how to approach a stallion and ask to join his herd, or be approached in fact. She is not naïve enough to realise that her parents met under rare circumstances that she is unlikely to reproduce. Vexare doesn’t even believe in love at first sight anyway, not for another equine anyway. This view on the other hand, is to die for. THE breeze blows away from the perlino, dispensing her scent rather than the opposite, so when she hears the soft crunch of undergrowth beneath hoof, it is the first signal she has that someone else is here. Toffee stained ears flick backwards and her pale eyes dart to the side anxiously, desperately re-adjusting to the dark form that strides out from the treeline. He is strangely marked, bay in colour, yet markings ensnare his legs and mottle against his dark hide. Vexare has never seen anything quite like it. She remains silent as he strides up next to her, her legs slightly braced in case she needs to make a quick getaway. She has yet to have a bad encounter, but she is full aware that some equines would not take too kindly for a stranger to be wandering about on their land. HE comments on the towers, and Vexare’s blue eyes follow his gaze up to their lofty peaks once more before she lowers her head to meet his eye contact. He looks almost amused to see her, which she cautiously takes a good sign. ‘Quite.’ She says softly. ‘It makes me question what kind of creature can manufacture something like this.’ Vexare wonders, mostly to herself, she doesn’t expect this stranger to have any answers. They could never fully know, only guess. She looks back to him, knowing she would have to leave soon, it would be best to apologise and slip away before his herd gets involved. ‘Not really. I’m not a rogue, just trying to put off a trip to homeless.’ She slips him a wry smile. ‘I was intrigued by these towers so on my way past I came to look at them. I can leave now, if you want.’ She says, quite amiably. |
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| `d e p p | Jun 19 2014, 12:30 AM Post #4 | ||
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I think everybody's nuts.
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______________________________________________________________________________________ A E S O N Let me out of this dream . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Quite honestly, the pale-colored mare has a much better reaction to my appearance than I had expected. I don’t really know what I had been expecting—shrinking back into the shadows, frightened, aggressive, intrusive, rude—but none of the above seemed to fit her response. There is a caution about her, understandably so, but I don’t sense any kind of fear or defensiveness about her just yet. However, seeing as this is my territory that she has stumbled in, I take into first consideration the protection of my mares, and the threats that she may pose (indeed, I have seen more than enough havoc caused by mares as well as stallions to know that both can be dangerous). At the same time, I don’t mean to frighten her, so I settle back, my posture unobtrusive, while still ready for action should the need suddenly arise. My ears flick forward as she answers my somewhat wittily-phrased question. Her voice is soft, almost meek, but the words that are spoken are far more thoughtful than any…naïve-minded individual would come up with. My dark gaze wanders from her again to take in the massive glory of the ancient towers, silently asking them the same questions of their mysterious origins—surely it is far past anything of my time, or my grand-sire’s time at that. We wonder in silent musings, neither having an answer, and both simply left playing with our own imaginations. As the pale mare continues, I bring my gaze back to rest on her face. She is very beautiful, I must admit, and so it is somewhat surprising that she is still in search of a home—surely a jewel such as her would have been grounded by now? No doubt to be goggled at in the Homeless, I pity her for a short moment, but manage not to get away with myself. Still, a little taken back by her vague inquiry to leave, I flick my tail and give her a fleeting, bemused grin. “I don’t blame you for delaying the Homeless—it is not a place I particularly enjoy myself, if I must admit.” A vague shrug rolls across my muscled shoulders, sure that I am far from the only one that harbors such an opinion. “I don’t blame you either for being fascinated by these ancient towers,” I continue, casting another brief glance upward, “I only wish there could be known more about them—what they must have seen in their time! But I suppose it is the mystery that complements the attraction.” My dark lips pull upward into a silent chuckle as my gaze rests easily on the pretty pale mare, allowing a breath to pass before I press on. “Unless you bear ill will, I have no real intentions of chasing you off. Please, in the name of delaying the Homeless, rest here if you desire,” I give her an exaggerated inclination of my head (bordering on a clumsy bow), matched with a hovering grin as I look back to her. “My name is Aeson.” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ‘I can't turn this around, I keep running into walls that I can't break down — LET ME OUT OF THIS DREAM.’ zebroid hybrid stallion . rowan x siason . seven years old . seal bay w/striped legs . brown eyes . neutral . 16hh |
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Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum! #EpicStrut ![]() paper faces on parade; | |||
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| devotchka | Jul 6 2014, 04:37 PM Post #5 | ||
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WELL SWEET MOTHER TERESA ON THE HOOD OF A MERCEDES BENZ
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VEXARE ' she needs new faces, she knows the high stakes ' ________________________________________________________ IN all honesty, Vexare has experienced nothing in her life but kindness. She is fortunate enough to say she was bought up by two parents who loved each other dearly, and by their immediate family, or at least her father’s side. It is probably why they were taken away from her at such a tender young age, old enough to be independent, but still young enough to not know all the treacherous perils of the outside world. Fortunately, apart from a few dodgy meals and being chased out of a few lands by grumpy stallions, the perlino mare doesn’t think she’s done too badly, considering how much worse things could have been. She doesn’t like to think that she is innocent or even ignorant of how evil some equines can be, though she finds it hard to believe, which is perhaps why she does not run or shy away from the strange stallion. THE dark stranger seems brooding, and Vexare wonders whether he is weighing up in his mind how much of a threat she may pose. She gets it, not all strangers are here with good intentions, and perhaps he has seen a wanderer do damage before. When his eye go back to the towers again so do hers, the pale irises expanding as she cranes her head up causing more sunlight to go into her eyes. Vexare wants to ask if they hold any kind of spiritual property, for she has heard rumours that certain landmarks and places throughout the land have some kind of supernatural plane that only few are aware of, but she does not want to make a fool of herself, and keeps her mouth shut. THE decisions lie in his domain now, and there is nothing more for the Warmblood shaped mare to do now other than quietly muse about what he is going to do. He is certainly not a vocal character, perhaps because he is on guard, but he has not let anything slip. Her head drops back to a normal level, because the base of Vexare’s neck is beginning to ache, and she stares despondently at the decaying wall in front of them. There must be a better way to view the towers, possibly from a further away viewpoint where one’s muscles were stretched to look at them. Vexare only glances to her side when he speaks, one ear turning in his direction. At his words the young mare chuckles, she has yet to have the opportunity to see the homeless grounds everyone talks about it, and she is not looking forwards to the day that happens. VEXARE'S interest is further piqued by this stallion as he wonders aloud about those towers. The blue eyed mare glances back to them and gives him a friendly smile. ‘We’ll never know, so I suppose you could make something up about them, something to impress future tourists.’ She says with a grin. Her head turns to face him as he offers her to stay, accompanied by a bow of his head, which she reciprocates. ‘Vexare.’ She offers her name in exchange, her mind quickly deliberating. Aeson seems pleasant, the land seems pleasant, and who cares if she doesn’t go to the homeless right away? After all, she might like it here better instead – if Aeson would let her stay of course. 'YOUR offer is very kind, and I will take you up on it.’ She pauses. ‘Rest assured I’m not here to destroy your herd or any other kind of tom-foolery. I’m not that kind of girl.’ theme xx image |
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| `d e p p | Jul 10 2014, 04:11 PM Post #6 | ||
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I think everybody's nuts.
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_________________________________________________________________________________ A E S O N Let me out of this dream . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Compared to a lot of members of my family, most would consider me a fool. Sure, I can be reclusive, distrusting, brooding, and all the other goodies that usually lace my bloodlines— but I am different, and, therefore, foolish. For example, if my father had happened across a wandering mare in his territory (especially one as beautiful as the one standing before me), he likely would have either forced her to stay as his prisoner, or chased her out of his borders if she refused—after taunting and threatening her, of course. Any way you cut it, I am different than him, and the rest of them (and not always for the better, mind you). It is this fact about me that often tears me apart. Am I better or worse because of it? Am I good, or am I bad? Usually, when it comes down to this, I don’t really identify myself as the villain or the hero—I’m the guy on the sidelines, watching, waiting, and doing nothing. Just… there. And to be perfectly honest, I like it that way, it’s where I’m mostly comfortable. Again, unlike a large part of my heritage, I do not crave power, or the spotlight, or to be tangled up in the mess of politics that so often plagues Kormada. Just leave me alone while you all beat yourself up over nothing, I’ll just be happy left alone in my little corner. Perhaps it is because of all this, that I find myself strangely drawn to the pale mare—Vexare, as she has introduced herself. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that she’s a grumpy hermit like myself. But, she does seem quite pleasant, honest, and with an innocence that is so terribly hard to find nowadays. Nearly the opposite of my battered and banged-up self, really. I want to…preserve this innocence, somehow, and shelter it from the darkness that surrounds us (despite my own…inner darkness). That’s really what kept me in the Towers, after all—they are quite sacred and pure themselves. Of course, I don’t actually say any of this to Vexare because, let’s be honest—that’d just be weird. Instead, I offer a rumbling chuckle at her words, tucking my head as I eye her. “What type of girl are you, then? Obviously not too daunted by strangers,” I observe, again noting her innocence (a well-worn mare would have dashed off at the sight of me). She is a bright creature indeed. “I’m not given to much tom-foolery myself,” I admit, shifting my weight, “Much like the two towers, I have felt myself worn and weathered. Noble too, though, right?” One side of my brow rises as I question her somewhat playfully, not wanting to let the conversation become too dreary. I’m good at that sometimes, getting people down. It’s not the most honorable of talents. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ‘I can't turn this around, I keep running into walls that I can't break down — LET ME OUT OF THIS DREAM.’ zebroid hybrid stallion . rowan x siason . seven years old . seal bay w/striped legs . brown eyes . neutral . 16hh |
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Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum! #EpicStrut ![]() paper faces on parade; | |||
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| devotchka | Jul 13 2014, 02:44 PM Post #7 | ||
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WELL SWEET MOTHER TERESA ON THE HOOD OF A MERCEDES BENZ
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VEXARE ' she needs new faces, she knows the high stakes ' ________________________________________________________ SHE waits for him to speak, her mind processing what she has just agreed to. Vexare often rushes into things before considering what this might mean for her first, and this is just one of these types of situations. It would not be the end of the world if she had to stay here, but she always thought that when she does settle down, it would be her choice. Then again, he didn’t exactly force her into this, after all, the bay striped male standing next to her did offer her to leave if she wanted. Still, as her blue eyes rest on his face as he pauses before he speaks, from the brief conversation they have had, she imagined she would meet something along his kind of lines anyway. ALTHOUGH he was certainly handsome, and very unusual looking, looks never bothered her as much as they probably should. Both her parents had stressed that personality is what one will have to live with, that the mind is definitely over the matter. They had explained that as she is so unusual looking herself, lots of stallions would try and offer her a place in their homes. However, this kind of relaxed conversation is the kind of Vexare was envisioning. Her eyes widen, not in shock, but a mock surprise as she smiles at him. She likes his light-heartedness, it certainly makes a difference from the more dreary side of the world, especially since that’s all she seems to see nowadays. 'YOU need to do some growing first.’ She says playfully, chuckling slightly. ‘Considerably shorter, but noble, I suppose.’ She jokes back, shuffling her weight from side to side. ‘Well, if you don’t be open to strangers, how can you make friends?’ She says somewhat more seriously, turning her blue gaze onto Aeson. ‘That’s how I was bought up, at least.’ She says, offering the stallion a smile after she finishes speaking. theme xx image |
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| `d e p p | Jul 16 2014, 04:45 PM Post #8 | ||
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I think everybody's nuts.
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Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum! #EpicStrut ![]() paper faces on parade; | |||
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| devotchka | Jul 22 2014, 09:11 AM Post #9 | ||
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WELL SWEET MOTHER TERESA ON THE HOOD OF A MERCEDES BENZ
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VEXARE ' she needs new faces, she knows the high stakes ' ________________________________________________________ VEXARE enjoys the stallion’s sense of humour, or rather, appreciates it. Equines this easy going are few and far in between, and forbid her that she would eventually settle to a stallion who needs to be serious all the time. She couldn’t imagine anything duller, her life has been moulded by the sound of laughter, and she wishes it to continue that way. Her pale eyes travel down the towers’ thick columns and back to the other equine. Had she been worldly in more of a social sense, the perlino would recognise his striped legs as work of Rowan’s, but she merely sees them as pretty decorations to his limbs. Anything to do with climbing the social ladder does not interest her anyways. Her pink lips widen into a smile as he chuckles, a delighted expression crossing over her youthful face. It has been many moons since she has laughed like this, and she rejoices in the feeling. SHE has never had any connections with equines her own age, and although her parents were young when they met, there were still gaps between them. Her sire kept no other mares and his father, Vexare’s grandsire, only a few, all of whom were elderly. Perhaps this is why sometimes the pale mare comes across as quaint, or as if she is from a different time, but she is enjoying this new found friendship with Aeson; at least from her point of view, she considers him a new friend. She wonders whether this is what being in a true herd is like, being surrounded by one’s friends. Her ears remain locked onto the stallion next to her, curious as to what he has to say. THE pale mare says nothing as the male speaks, her face shifting momentarily as he assumes she has grown up well, and she smiles at his hastily tacked on apology. It is true, her childhood has been happy, nurturing, and now bittersweet since everyone who helped make it that way has departed her life forever. Vexare turns away briefly, catching herself at the back of her throat. Now was not the time for sorrow, her parents would have wanted her to be free of grief, to not pine after them. She looks back to Aeson, who also seems to be battling inner emotions. She giggles at her given cue, of course she takes the jibe lightly. She cannot imagine the bay stallion to be dark and dangerous at all, but of course, everyone has their demons. 'I'LL thank the Gods later.’ She retorts with a smirk. ‘It’s a shame that there are those out there who have spoilt the good name of wanderers. I would call them rogues, but that would be deemed unfair, besides, I am no rogue. That life is not for me.’ She adds, fixing him with a fair expression, and a gentle smile to lace her words. theme xx image |
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| `d e p p | Jul 28 2014, 09:46 PM Post #10 | ||
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I think everybody's nuts.
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Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum! #EpicStrut ![]() paper faces on parade; | |||
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