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`` time to take FLIGHT!?; Arabesque | Light Mare
Topic Started: Jun 6 2014, 12:37 AM (197 Views)
Kat.
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The four year old mare walked quietly into the homeless grounds with out fan fair or much stir. She was here to find a home just like all the rest of the mares, who entered these grounds. She was not a mare that needed much attention, in fact she was quiet simple. Of course, growing up with her mother and father she was taught that love was a wonderful thing and it should be shared when ever possible. Arabesque was hopeful that she would be able to find the type of love and devotion her mother gave and shared with her father. Warm brown eyes stared out into the grounds hopefully. She would not loose faith, not so early on. Arabesque was a generally optimistic mare who (much like her mother) was eternally forgiving. She had a heart of gold and a rather unassuming nature.

Arabesque took a deep breath and dove into the mass of mares milling about. She was not one to bring heaps of attention to herself so she found a rather quiet corner, far enough away from the main action but not so far as she might be over looked. The cold winter air had all but killed the grass she tread upon. Though she still lowered her elegant face to lip at the dead grass with her velvety muzzle as she waited to be approached.
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No.
Alecto Does Not Have A Lisp.
It is just the way he talks. Sort of like a Snake.
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Rival
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sweet dreams && flying machines in pieces on the ground.
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image source: RELIENT/ `SAVVY

R E U B E N
4 years, Ardennais Warmblood stallion, Neutral
son of Meridian X Macintosh
keeper of Ruby Misers

The stallion isn't really one to touch this territory. He's never been here, nor had he ever thought to be, but his endless trailing of the miniature mare who called his bejeweled territory home had led him here. Granted it led him to the Gathering, but he supposed if he was here he might as well take a look around in case she decided to duck in and find someone else. He doubted she would do that with two yearling fillies by her side, but he figured he ought to check nonetheless.

He is a true sight, covered in a heavy blanket of winter hair thanks to his draft lineage and the elevation of his home territory. He is a lovely shade of dark bay, but it is interrupted by a hearty covering of white roan across his top half. At first glance it might appear that he'd simply stood in the snow for much too long, but the fact that his mane and tail held minimal white would tell the truth about his markings. His is only mildly feathered, but they are white with the ice that has stuck itself to them. His breath comes in great billows of white smoke, lengthy forelock covering one of his dark eyes and revealing a white star on his handsome forehead. He is impressive at just under seventeen hands high and built a heavy warmblood, but his gentle nature can be found in one looks past the guarded body language he sends clearly to everyone around him.

The male intends to turn and leave after not seeing Phillipa here, but his movement takes him right past a mare whose markings he's not seen the likes of. She is of lighter build than himself for sure, and her coat is a stunning chocolate shade similar to that of his mother's. However, her tresses are stark white save for the staining that this deep winter may have provided. She is very pretty, and the few moments he hesitates to really take her in likely makes her notice him. So as not to seem rude, he decides he could say hello. He is here, after all. Why not?

The large bay roan changes his black hooves' direction and moves towards her as she lips - likely nervously - at vegetation that will provide her with little sustenance. He is sure he looks a bit out of place being so shaggy in this lowland area, but he never had been one to worry about how he appeared to others. His graceful movements despite his draft infusion along with naturally collected body would do enough for him that he needn't worry.

He whickers a greeting to the pretty more, his voice deep and mellow as he does so. He stops some feet away, extending his blackened muzzle towards her in mild curiosity. "Hello." he says, not really sure what to say after that. Meeting Harper had been quite a bit different from this. For one thing, Harper had been shadowed by her behemoth of a brother, and they'd been more occupied with sizing one another up to bother with pleasantries. Feeling a bit like a lame duck, he licks his lips and tries further. "I am passing through, and noticed you seemed quite alone over here." he says, eyes glancing about to the few other horses who seemed to be keeping their distance before letting them fall back upon this mare's face. He feels uncomfortable here and wonders if he should have stopped at all, but he simply couldn't just walk right past a lone mare in the middle of winter. His mother would have scolded him immediately.
the picket fence
[i f there is a f u t u r e we want it n o w]

// m e r i d i a n // r e u b e n // a s p e c t //

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While I am no longer an active member of the community, I adore my characters and peeps nonetheless!
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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
_______________________________________________________________________________________ A E S O N
Let me out of this dream . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It is mainly by fortune that I find myself here. The Homeless territory would never be my first
destination of choice, but here I am all the same, trudging through the powdery ice in the same
monotony that many others share here. My head is down, level with my shoulders, and I don’t
make eye contact with anyone. I get it, gloominess and solitude are attributes that are far from
foreign to me, but it’s been a long while since I’ve been this bad—years, in fact. For the most
part, I’ve been pretty content since I had emerged from the shadows and began the herd way
of living. There have been ups and downs, of course, but such is life.

Still, I feel like I am perfectly justified in retreating the way that I am.

Since gathering a small band of mares, I know for certain that I have not been the best herd stallion
to them. The poor things have been moved between three different territories, for goodness sake,
and it takes all I can not to ask them why they’re still with me. Their loyalty is appreciated, obviously,
and I try my best to give them the best. That’s what they deserve, after all—and sometimes it seems
like a tall order I can’t fulfill.

I repress a sigh, instead allowing a huff to rumble across my dark lips. It’s been only a number of
weeks since I had found Chryseis’ body. After she had not made it to the Towers from Kherulian
Fief, I had begun to worry about her, and had left in search. What I had found was not what I had
wanted to find, and I still beat myself up over to this very moment—she didn’t have to die, that
sweet and kind mare. She was mine to look after, to take care of, and I should have done a better
job. I grit my teeth sternly against the pain, the guilt, lashing the length of my tail against the
blame and sauntering quickly away from the crowd.

It isn’t long before I find myself tucked away on a small hillock, with the main part of my body angled
away from the milling mass. I watch them out of the corner of my eye, taking little interest in their
interactions, and hardly sparing the energy to wonder why I have found myself here, of all places.
After discovering my dreadful failure, I had just wandered out of crippling remorse. Perhaps these lonely
borders have invited me openly, but the rituals are not things that I intend to entertain now.

I watch indifferently as a chocolate-hued mare seems to seek some reprieve from the throng of equines,
much like myself. She would disappear as just another face among the others had not a wintry breeze
drifted just then, carrying her scent over the short distance towards me. It stirs me from my apathy,
causing my ears to prick towards her in what would be mild interest, and my gaze rests on her with a
little more intent. She seems familiar, somehow—though it is her scent, not her face, that rouses my
memory. I tilt my head to the side a little, very well contemplating just brushing it off and continuing with
my dismal self-loathing. However, knowing that I should seek some sort of distraction, and placed with
the opportunity to do so (however brief), I begin to amble in her direction.

My stride is rather lethargic at first, with my hooves nearly dragging through the snow (a sight I’m sure
would merit little decency), though after a few paces, I settle into a measured walk. By the time I draw
near, another stallion has already engaged her in conversation. Not wanting to deal with competition or
hostility, especially at a time like this, I debate altering my direction completely; but, seeing as that would
seem silly by this point, I continue forward.

“Hi,” I say as I settle among them, completely aware of how awkward I am, and pointedly choosing to
ignore it. First focusing my attention on the chocolate mare, I incline my head (rather stiffly), and give
her a fleeting smile that I hope is more inviting than the grimace that it felt like. No need to be running
her off now. “My name is Aeson, of The Weeping Towers,” assuming that the other male has already
inquired of her name, I avoid the repetitiveness, allowing my gaze to linger on the pretty mare before I
cast a glance to the other stallion. I give him a short nod as well, seeing no need to stir up trouble;
although this is not my first time here, I have not had much experience among competition. Still, I focus
again on the mare, more intent on distraction than anything at this point.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
‘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


Edited by `d e p p, Jun 16 2014, 09:36 PM.
Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum!
#EpicStrut

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paper faces on parade;
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