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little black cloud, little black umbrella; you miss the point: | osha
Topic Started: Jul 13 2014, 09:19 PM (243 Views)
alittlelamb
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i'll dig a tunnel from my window to yours.
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It is unseasonably cold outside, but that suits her in more way than one. Osha keeps up a brisk pace as she enters the lands of the unclaimed, the place for the lost and the wandering and the searching. She is, of course, none of these things; she is displaced, temporarily unable to return home. Or at least, that's what she keeps telling herself. I will return -- they were not ready for me. The facts sing a different song, but for once in her life Osha sets the facts aside and plows ahead without them.

She knows that allowing herself to be claimed may compromise her own claim on her homeland, but Osha also recognizes that she can't simply slink around like a Rogue till her family comes calling. It's logical to find somewhere to live, reasonable even. Perhaps she will be a happy for time, in a way she never was at home. But that all depends on who comes to her, doesn't it? And there's another perilous tradition she would rather do away with, but it's one thing at a time. For now, she will bend to the culture and the times, as much as she is loathe to it.

It's chillier by the lake, and a sharp breeze ripples the murky waters. Osha approaches the water gingerly, the wind tucking her forelock messily behind her ears like a harried parent. She drinks her fill, grateful for the refreshment after such a long journey. If the stories she had been told all her adolescence are true, she wouldn't be alone for much longer. Suitors swarm thick as insects. You must calculate carefully and choose which to swat aside, which you will let draw your blood. In retrospect, Osha doubts much of what her mother said about most things, but perhaps there is a nugget of truth in her cryptic imagery. The problem is that she can't decide if she would rather she was right or not.
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between the click of the lock,
and the start of the dream.

| previously rhythm/riddikulus |
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madie
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___________________________

There is something in the way the springtime air nips at him
- something real where nothing has been before. He had not
been expecting to find her there, lying dead with his colt nestled
beside her. Life, however, is full of things that one would not
expect. His colt, nearly two years old now, has taken to shadowing
his sire in his wanderings. Today, the pair take to the Homeless land,
Gavriil with more or less the intention of disrupting the courtship
attempts of other stallions.

They find their place along the banks of the lake, a coldness radiating
from the glassy surface of the water that causes their breath to plume
and moisture to settle on their whiskers. Illarion (the youngest of the
two) is soon bored with their little waiting game and so takes to wandering
the surrounding treeline. Gavriil, however, has spotted an approaching
figure and waits with practiced patience.

He allows the gray mare time to sate her thirst before making his approach.
Prime’s mid-morning rays filter through his mane, illuminating the faded ends,
surrounding his silhouette in gold as he steps from the lazy, gray shadows.
His black winter coat has already begun to fade to a mousy brown that will
only become more golden as Spring fades to Summer. The brilliant light,
however, is fleeting, diminished as he follows the curve of the lake shore.
His shadow beats him to the mare.

She is considerably taller than he is. Any other stallion might feel threatened
by this, but Gavriil is an arrogant little sprite. Still, he admires her imposing figure,
and offers a nod in greeting as he comes to a stand beside her. Already, she has
lured a mosquito into her trap.

“Hello, lady.” He says in a voice not unlike the unseasonal cold and
the rush of ocean waves. “May I join you?” He asks, saving his name
for later. He would enjoy the mystery - the animosity while it lasted. He is certain
that they will not be left alone for long.

______________G a v r i i l___

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antimony . balor . chaul . desdemona . eidothea . malady . opium . rowtag . ryse . scorn . sköll
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alittlelamb
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i'll dig a tunnel from my window to yours.
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She has the patience of the dead, someone had told her once -- but skills such as that are learned, are taught carefully and forcefully till they are as ingrained as if one were born with them. Busy mothers have no patience, so their daughters must pick up the slack in the rope and pull mightily if they hope to be noticed at all. Osha had pulled with her considerable strength all her life, but a lot of good it did her till she finally dropped it altogether.

But that's a different story, and now she holds it again the same way she holds herself: tightly, serious and enduring and patient. So it's a surprise to Osha when she doesn't have to wait very long at all before someone joins her on the rocky shore. Her mossy eyes catch onto him as he approaches, body ringed by the morning light in such a way that he seems ethereal for a half-second. But the light changes, and he is mortal once more.

As the stranger draws nearer, Osha straightens to her full height and veritably towers over him as he comes to rest before her. Her posture is only stern, however, not threatening -- and any stallion worth his hide shouldn't be so concerned over something as silly as height anyhow. He acquaints himself with her simply enough. All she allows is a twitch of her brow at his informality, but her face smooths over into something that's courteous enough. You were spoiled on father's good graces. Be pleased that you at least haven't drawn hornets. Osha doesn't quite smile, but it's there in the way her eyes soften.

"I would say it would be an honor," she begins, "but as I don't know you, I can't say if that's the truth." She pauses, considers the bite of her words and how they may be perceived as hostile -- but she isn't wrong, she doesn't know him, and she doesn't lie. Osha smiles briefly, to take the sting out. There. "My name is Osha." Perhaps he would understand her intent and return her courtesies.
Edited by alittlelamb, Jul 22 2014, 09:41 PM.
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between the click of the lock,
and the start of the dream.

| previously rhythm/riddikulus |
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madie
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___________________________

Gavriil knows nothing of parenthood. He had not meant to stumble
into that trap so soon - to take on the burden of being responsible
for another. Whether by fate or coincidence, however, the bachelor
stallion had found his progeny, and whatever heart he had would
not allow him to leave the helpless bundle to die. Perhaps, he had a
weakness of sorts, for his heart is too soft where it once was careless
and immune. Still, when Illarion tugs at the slack in the rope, Gavriil
tugs back, clinging to the frayed ends of his freedom.

Perhaps, it is that very reason that he stands here now, in the land
of the Homeless. Sure, he has been a wanderer for most of his life.
He is a nomad without a place to call his own save the cradle of roots
and leaves he finds to lay his head every night. He is a restless creature.
So it is a wonder that he should come to stand in this mare’s company
at all. He has nothing to offer her, save his tongue for conversation.

“We shall be strangers no more, and you can make the judgement
yourself.”
The dark hued stallion replies with an amused smile at
the gray mare’s words. “My name is Gavriil.” Here falls the
silence again, and he watches for a moment the tiny bugs that flit above
the lake’s glassy surface. “What brings you here, Osha?” He
asks, and perhaps it is a silly question. Then again, perhaps, she has not
come here for the sole purpose of being claimed. “You don’t strike
me as the sort to not have a plan of attack.”
He adds, an upward
curl to his rugged lip as his gaze returns to hers.


______________G a v r i i l___

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antimony . balor . chaul . desdemona . eidothea . malady . opium . rowtag . ryse . scorn . sköll
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alittlelamb
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i'll dig a tunnel from my window to yours.
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It dawns on her rather suddenly, as she is watching the brown stallion across from her, that deciding to come here had been the first time she had ever so much as thought of this place. The common grounds were not a place frequented by her herd -- Those lands are for the dirty and desperate, Osha. We have no need of them. She supposed it was funny in a entirely cryptic sort of way, always expect the unexpected and all that. Then again, she had never thought about murdering her own brother either, but there is a reason you strike the iron while it's hot, lest it bubble over and burn you. Some ideas just make sense, and to not follow through would be to not only miss an opportunity, but to fashion oneself a fool.

Perhaps she was a fool though. Why else would she be here, in a place she was never meant to be, instead of home? Either way the situation was out of her control, she supposed. Osha twitches out of her reverie when the stallion speaks, picking up on her cues and adopting a more formal speech pattern. There's one to your favor, then, she thinks, giving a curt nod when he introduces himself as Gavriil. His name is unusual, with harder syllables than she is used to; she wants to say it, to feel it roll off her tongue and test it out like she does everything else.

Gavriil asks her what, under ordinary circumstances, would be an assuming question -- small talk, get-to-know-you blather. But his choice of words cut right to the heart of it, don't they? Her soft green eyes widen a little, then furrow and a frown flits over her features. She stares out lost in thought for a fraction of a second, lost in memories, before meeting Gavriil's eyes. "You're not wrong," she begins, speaking of his astute observation of her character, "but it was a failed plan of attack that led me here, Gavriil." She pauses a moment, purses her lips. Is it right to -- ? Never lie. Never keep secrets. "I murdered my brother, and my family did not understand, so here I am." She shrugs lightly, as if she were commenting on the weather. When you are asked, tell it true, Osha. The truth is divine, always.
Edited by alittlelamb, Jul 22 2014, 09:52 PM.
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between the click of the lock,
and the start of the dream.

| previously rhythm/riddikulus |
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madie
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___________________________

He watches her expression furrow, and for a fleeting moment there is
something that breaks through the calm of the morning. No one is immune
to memories. They come creeping through the blackness of sleep to steal
your breath until you cry out. Or, in conversation with strangers beside a
lake in the Homeless. Gavriil sees it in the way her green eyes seem to focus
on something in the distance before drawing back to meet his.

She speaks simply enough, and in a way there is something daunting about
it. But, Gav quite enjoys the unexpected, and after he begins to breathe
again, a fleeting smile slips across his lips - gone before it came.

“Was it deserved?” He asks her, as Prime’s rays begin to reach for
the surface of the lake. Perhaps, in his younger years he wouldn't have believed
her. There is something in the way she speaks, however, something cold and commanding,
that does not allow him to shrug her off. This mare needs no stallion to protect her.


______________G a v r i i l___

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antimony . balor . chaul . desdemona . eidothea . malady . opium . rowtag . ryse . scorn . sköll
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