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Post by ` k i w i ` on Aug 7, 2012 11:42:17 GMT -7
Several times throughout our long journey I wanted nothing more than to sink my yellowing pearls into the soft throat of the porcelain doll. She moved just so, every chance she could, and swiftly stole the attention of the White Knight when he had any to pay. But nothing was more frustrating than the things that she could not control. I had begun to notice it within our first few days of the journey. At first she would become ravenous long before the Knight of I, then she began to grow sluggish and almost slickly, which was infuriating. The doll merely slowed us down. Not to long after her little fits of hunger I began to notice a physical change. I was originally worried that my foal machine was injured internally, causing her to swell and thus making her sick. Instead, with subtle hints from the other horse, I concluded that her pregnancy had indeed succeeded. This left me happy for a few hours, until I realized the real truth. She was showing her pregnancy long after the mount, her porcelain midsection growing wide and tight. Though mine was not.
I had wanted nothing more in that moment then to kill the taller mare and rip the growing creature from within her womb and smash it into little, bloody pieces. Knowing that that was not the right thing to do, I sat on my plans and hatched a greater one. I would first need to mentally weaken the mare--produce a fear greater than her own nothing instincts. Her foal would simple grow to be mine. She was ... a surrogate of sorts.
[/center] At first he ignored the mare's question of his tagging. It was the least of his interests in that moment, to know the dolls calling, for his head was very busy. He had plans to make! Plans of plotting against the dark creatures of the lands, plots of how to raise his young as warriors to spill the blood of the toxic filth from below. Very early in the walk, the stallion decided that her much preferred the company of the white mare. She was shy and quiet and respectable. The darker colored mare with the fluffy wings gave him ... chills. The way her eyes darted back and fourth, as if she was searching for something made him wonder. Maybe he would keep her around, for a while. She was well muscled and was always trying to stir a fight from his mare. She could possibly be the warrior he needed to train his offspring. It was true, the darker mare never really showed much sign to foal, and so her quickly gave up on the though. You win some, you lose some, it was as simple as that. After a many great days, soil turns to grey rock, which in turn formed into soft, yellow sand. Ocean scents and breezes tickled the stallions scents, causing a barrage of happy memories of his beautiful and lonely home. This was indeed a place that the mares, and his offspring, could live happy, healthy lives. Tugging on the odd rope that bound the two mares, he lead them in an excited fashion into the network of caves. Pale hooves hammered the thick rock path until they reached soft, loamy soil. The rock tunnel opened out into the courtyard of his beautiful home. Fruit bearing trees littered the area, a shallow, mineral rich river twisted and turned throughout the large room. From above sunlight shown through a great, gaping hole, cascading onto the foliage. Turning to the mares, the stud bowed deeply, allowing the top of his muzzle to though the floor and stated, " Ladies. I am Scar Tissue, but you may call me Issue. And this," his stood and nodded around them, " is home."
WC: 271 + 362 = 633[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote] |
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Post by Racing on Aug 7, 2012 22:07:36 GMT -7
/living things/
Concern was littered among the many scraps of emotion on the floor of the angel's mind. It dotted her every glance toward her mistress, and every glance toward her own belly. But looking at her sir, she only saw a great question mark. A possibility, a dream, a chance? Something about him made her heart beat pace, made her almost wish the pink staining her outer white was inside, instead. Purity tainted... Poetic justice, perhaps that was what she would name her firstborn. The youngling had never really thought about babies and their names before, but now she must, so while one section of her mind whirled off about that, the other focused on her mistress, her sir and their plans. For what could they be? Both, she knew, had to involve her in some way, and woefully the mare knew they had to involve her offspring as well. But who would get what, here? Her mistress must receive something, and her sir must receive something of course. Isnigh snorted and shook her luxurious mane, keeping pace with her keepers. On the long trek to her sir's home, her belly had swollen and swollen beyond what she had thought it could, and she had gotten furiously hungry and so terribly emotional and she felt almost colicky, at times. It was horrible and she wanted it over with, but even a glance at her bloodred companion and she was struck with guilt. Her poor Miss... Barren. And to find out this way, too... Isnigh would share her child with her; the silly girl's mind was made up before she ever thought of the plans the other mare might have. A smile flitted over her face at times as she thought of a child, but reality darkened her doorstep when she realized that the foal might be taken from her by her sir. Stallions did that sometimes, did they not? Was not Isnigh's own childhood a case of that, in a way? The poor angeling never thought the cradle robber might be her Mistress-- no, the thought never occurred.
As the threesome's hooves crossed stone, to sand, to rock again, Isnigh paid attention to her beautiful surroundings. They made her happy, but at the same time she found little nuances. The sunlight was too bright, the rock too hard beneath her feet, the colors all... a little thrown off. Pain lanced off the waves in the form of sunbeams glaring into her eyes, and her pale hooves stuttered on the rock flooring a staccato beat that made her sidestep and jump at the same time. Restless suddenly, she paced forward at a double step time, slowing only once she was about to overstep her mistress. That would never do. Salt air assaulted her breathing pattern, and the mare had to breathe in and out deeply to get acclimated to it. All of the strange new things hurt her in some fashion, and although she flinched at every sound and sensation, every sight and scent that she had never felt before, she was mystified. The immortality of it all, the wonder and amazement that streaked through her mind... It was stunning. Absolutely breathtaking, as the foolish mare had taken note of when it had indeed stolen her breath away. The feeling did not fade as her sir led them into the earth, though each hallway and room they passed made her heart skip. Why was it so beautiful here? Was it just that it was new to the mare, that she felt like this? Was it because her sir was the owner of this wonderland that her ears pricked when she looked at him? As much as her mind raced and she mulled it over, the girl could not come to a conclusion. One of life's great mysteries, it would remain. As her sir drew to a halt and turned to face them, the pale blue that was the mare's irises could not focus on him, those same irises tearing around the room at a breakneck pace. The beauty... the wonder... It was almost too much for the mare, who had grown up in a place not even remotely like this.
Then he spoke. Sky, robin's egg, pastel blue shot to his lips as he spoke, and almost appreciatively over his frame before her ears pricked to listen. He spoke his name, and welcomed them home. A smile of pearly white split her snow white muzzle, and she slowly nodded her head, a soft voice breaking from her iron hold on it. "It is beautiful, sir Issue." But then it dawned on her, who she was and why she was here. Her smile shattered and her heart broke and fell from where it had been flying high. She was a dark slave mare, to a dark slave mistress, and both belonged to a light stallion. She was pregnant, and so close to foaling she could feel her skin rippling already. But her mistress was barren, and that hurt, Isnigh had to know it. It had to feel like your heart being ripped out and stomped on, like so many bee stings all at once, like a date rape where the drugs didn't work right and you remember everything... So much pain. This Isn't Your Fight had paused, and while her heart broke, so did her control over her legs. The heavily pregnant mare found herself lying on her side when she surfaced from her thoughts, and she blinked at this. Oh, dear, she had fainted just after speaking out of turn, what would her mistress and her sir do to her for that... A gasp escaped her locked lips, and the angeling bared her teeth in a painstaking grimace as her blue irises widened. Pain. It had not been only Envy's pain she spoke of, it had been the pain she had been ignoring to deliver the soliloquy in her head. She choked out a breath, eyes darting to her mistress and then her sir, and she opened her sweet mouth to whisper, "I am sorry, sir, miss." Sorry for birthing in the stallion's beautiful home, sorry for birthing without her mistress' explicit permission, sorry for what she did not know, but she was so sorry it heavied her heart.
The same mouth that had spoken now clamped shut before she screamed, but her vocal cords quivered in tension at the unreleased emotion. Contractions nearly split her in two, and pale blue rolled in her head as she snorted and struggled and kicked and grunted, made every noise and movement possible to tempt the pain away. Then... Suddenly... It was over. A terrible noise left the mare's airways, and she flung her head up and scrabbled with her hooves to gain purchase and turn to face what she knew was hers. Hers... Isnigh managed to turn herself around, and sighed at the sight of the foal. It was so pretty... She nudged it, a pink tongue caressing it, clearing away a just so handsome creature. A roaring mother instinct was awoken in the new mother, and her pale blue sparked with life and sudden, new emotion. She did not know it for what it was, and she did not feel it for long, but for a minute, a moment, she had felt love. And it was a recurring emotion, indeed. She cared for her little child, pale blue noting it's goose gray coloring. So, so pretty. It's mane was two-tone, a stunning white at the base that faded to match it's coat at the end. Isnigh did also note that her beautiful youngling was a female, but she did not care, she just cared that it was hers, and that that amazing stallion over there had given it to her. She dared a glance at him, a tiny smile darting across her face, before she returned to the filly. The thought of her mistress...? It never even crossed her mind.
But the mare was not beautiful, right now. She was not pristine, or snow, or pretty in any way. Soaked in blood and the juices that came with the birth, the girl just focused on cleaning her baby. Her child, this little filly was hers. Her own once clear white coat was dreadfully covered in ugly fluids, and she wanted nothing more than to wash it off and care for her child. She remained curled around it, tongue continuing to wash over it and ensure it's healthiness and cleanliness and that the girl was hers. Warm blue had eyes for the child and the sir only, recognizing the child as hers and the man as not only her dominant sir, but also the father of this pretty little creature. The foursome in the tunnel system were a beautiful bunch, indeed, a mix of breeds and even colors when you counted the blood and bodily fluid still staining the snowling's coat.
You belong, whispered a voice in her head. You belong here...
[1498 words. Living Things (album) - Linkin Park.]
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Post by ` k i w i ` on Dec 12, 2012 19:48:11 GMT -7
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The red mare watched in disgust as the youngster played out her woes. The scene made the mare cringe, sending the warm heat of anger rushing through her veins. Her blood was boiling. This scene was a mess. Before the white mare could delve too deep into her introductions with her new born, the winged beast left. Tired of the others existance, Envy cut the rope that bound them. A rope that was to last forever, but by it's master.
She did not say a word before her depart, she merely left, to explore the wilderness of her new home, to find something to do. The scent of birth giving left her with a ravenous fell. She was hungry. But not for plant flesh. No, she hungered for something more.
The liver mare explored the palace, taking note of the nooks and crannies she passed by. Finding fruit trees and bushes, pools of water, the stream that split the oasis, and several good clearings. The place was beautiful and obviously self sustaining, but it lacked something. The garden lacked a bit of ... gore.
img90.imageshack.us/img90/3493/48scartissue2.jpg
Excited by the birthing scene, Issue went into a sort of excited frenzy. Here, before him, lay his first mate along with his first daughter. Although it is less customary for a female to rule, she would rule non-the-less. This little ball of grey hairs would learn to hold her own in a fight and pass on his genes.
Unable to contain his joy, the white stallion dashed off to find his queen consumables. The king returned many moments later wit a sprig from one of the nearest fruit bearing trees and laid it near his offspring.
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Post by Racing on Dec 12, 2012 21:06:30 GMT -7
The snowling could feel it, practically, the moment the rope snapped between her mistress' teeth. That click, the tender threads binding them unravelling under a saw, was the equivalent of freedom-- This Isn't Your Fight could feel it. The white mare was now an equal. The white mare was no longer a save to the other girl, no, she was better than she, and now she had something to fight for. Isnigh watched both creatures leave the cavern, her fellow lady in a rush and a huff of anger, her mated boy in a tremble of excitement and hurry. The little gosling at her side required attention, and Isnigh flung her head high to help get her balance. Standing on shaky legs, she nudged the gosling to its own feet, caressing and priding as she saw fit. Not coddling, preparing. Isnigh eyed the filly with baby blues, noting the child's own pale green stare back. Such a pretty color, like pastel and Easter egg green together. But so pale. Beautiful, her child was.
The stallion returned.
Isnigh turned to him, barely moving, her body trembling to adjust to the loss of life inside. The gosling had fallen, legs tucked tenderly under herself, and Isnigh nudged her again up. Issue laid fruit at the youngling's feet, but Isnigh nudged it away. The gosling could not start with solid fruit, did he know nothing? Lifting the baby and guiding it to her side was nothing, and a pinch told her what she needed. Isnigh snatched at the fruit, eating it quickly and quietly, gracefully. Her pale blues studied the man, hoping this action wouldn't anger, but she was starved. And Envy's plight was far from Isnigh's brain by now, it was gone. Gone without grace, without tact. And in that moment, the gosling's name came to her. A child of gray, frosted white, with pale green irises? Why, she was...
"Graceless."
[317 words. America - Deuce.]
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