Title: The Winds of Change
Description: Ever changing, Ever hating
Arabian - December 31, 2006 11:28 PM (GMT)
The rugged winter breeze assailed his coarset flesh, a shiver ran through him as the sun feel behind the horizon of the plains. A snarl deepened in his vocals, harks pinned unceramoniously to his poll. A glint of malice appeared in his heartless orbs as the breeze blew in from the way of the ocean, snarling in his face, beating his tassels til they too billowed wildly behind him. The bastard challenged the wind with a blodd curtling scream, throwing his vocals into good use with every sylable of hatred penetrating his undenying tones. Curiously, the wind kept blowing, the more it teased him, the angrier the bull got. Furious now with it's defiance, he reared upon his lithened apendages, throwing his forelegs afore him, slicing the air with his pistons, his snarl echoing about him in the vast emptiness of the terrain. Though he was used to silence, the silence that speaks a thousand words. He had never known the effort of kindness, from the begining it had been hatred, glorified malice of the world and it's beings. Even now he did not let up, the world was a disgrace, certainly not fit for one of such worthyness that he considered himself to be. The brute thought him above all the rest, perhaps not the gods, yet they were all. No king could rule him, no matter how mighty they thought themselves to be, he would alas, hold his cran higher, keep his step firmer, and challenge even the most daunting bafoons that laughed and scorned at him, they had better enjoy it, the fun would not last long. He would captivate their amusement with his own, trowing it back in their pathetic faces and tearing them apart, limb for limb.
As the breeze died through the terra, the grass stopped it's rustling. Though just to his right something moved, inching slowly nearer to him, slowly, blending in with it's surroundings. Oh how dramatic, the beast thought. You think you can inch upon me and surprise me? Think again. He pounced, lunging forward, pillars thrusting into the grass where the leopard lay, preparing the leap. They met mid air, the leopard attempting to swing it's hind quarters about his shoulders and clamp onto his nape, while Balthazar gave the beast his flints in it's facade. The leopard screamed and dodged away, Balthazar landing oddly upon the geo, the leopard struck again, regaining it's balance as Balthazar fell to the sod, snarling in a mass of golden dust. As the leopard lept at his jugular, Balthazar rolled, out of the reach of the cat and swung to his sturdy pillars. The great cat did not let down, he snapped at Balthazar's maw, at this, the bastard opened his fangs and let his forepillars fly to the cats' skull, in an instant it was over. A reigning brute stood above the cat's lifeless corpse in the sod, glaring down upon the filth with every particle of hate he possessed and more.
Snorting he walked away from the cat, not a glance back to spare for it's pelted hue. His hue now stank of the vile leopard, though he cared not. Nothing mattered, nobody's opinion of him mattered. He just didn't care. The glint returned to his pools as once more he stood in the midst of the terra, blatently surrounded by nothing, except the grass that rose to his kness. His breathing subsided as the sun almost fell behind the horizon, and unbelievably but so undeniably true a malicious grin appeared on his features, then so, vanished til only the glint in his optics remained.
[.x.] Freedom - February 15, 2007 05:14 PM (GMT)
[.x.] From the horizon a dark shadow rushes, flying over the topography with a slender grace. Long, lithe pillars carry the vix over the knee-high grasses with such ease that you would not think her flints are not touching the ground. Firey pools scan the terra with dislike and hatred burning deep within them. As she four-beats quickly over the grassy plains, an ear-splitting scream of fury flies quickly to her sonar, causing her to slide to a sudden halt, fore pillars locking to bring the bruja to an almost immediate stop, Agana gazes upon the beast and cat with contempt, making no attempt to help him whatsoever. Her interest grows as the fight continues; this is nothing more than entertainment for the bytch. Somewhat impressed by the hellion's utter fierceness and apparent hate of everything that walks this damned terrain, the fae moves in her high-stepping fashion toward the quarelling duo, her showy movements a mark of her past in a human breeding stables.
As the beast slays the feline, and screams his song over its dead corpse, the dark bay feminine advances a few paces, making her presence known with a soft hiss coming from her vocals, carried on the rushing wind to the vocals of the brute. Her sorrel flesh is not dull and matted like most other Cursed bytches, whom all seem to think that lacking personal hygiene is a good way to pass themself off as one of the true Damned ones. No, her dark bay pelt is clean and glossy, reflecting off it the few rays of sunlight that manage to break through the misty horizons. Her finely-bred features have more than once caught another stag's orbs, but she accepts nothing but the darkest of the darkest hellion. As she spies him looking over at her, she makes no attempt to go over to him, merely flickers her whipcord teasingly, as though daring him to advance. [.x.]
Arabian - February 15, 2007 10:12 PM (GMT)
As the hellion stood atop the baren topography, unfathomable expressions blatant upon his cerebrum, no emotion followed through to his features as his raging visionaries caught sight of the elegant bytch. Once more the breeze ignited it's flaunting cat-call of the brute, whispering aboard his frame, tangling silken stained banners into oblivian. The bastards orbs followed the whelp as she two-beat daintily towards the masc. Raising his maw, cupped in ebon blazes, his pure Lusitano heritage thrown into magnifigance he leered down upon her, snorting in a malicious taunt as she came into his view. But she halts, clear to her message that he should come to her. Bytch, who did she think she was kidding? The flick she gave of her glossy banner did nothing but disgust him thoroughly, the hellion rolled pitilessly amused pools, turning his sharply lithened hindquarters to her. Twas clear of his message, this bastard was not the one who would fawn over her, drool over her obvious beauty and fall madly in love with her. Indeed not, what sort of fool did she think he was? Dispicable cowardace lived in his own "alliance", pathetic ones that spoke of true love. He loved no one, twould take a miracle to slaughter his wall that grew steadily stronger the longer he cursed the damned geo.
[.x.] Freedom - February 16, 2007 10:07 PM (GMT)
[.x.] The sorrel feminine, seeing that her first advances have been met with hostilty, growls a soft warning to the brute and moves in her elegant, high-stepping gait toward him. The growl emmited from her vocals is naught by a warning, informing him that she accepts naught but the highest respect, and she doesn't want any of this 'wench' buisness when he addresses her. She is a minx of great lustre and power, and boy does she know it. Throwing her forelock from her stormy pools and arching her slender curvature, the minx sidesteps slightly to view the hellion in more detail, snorting approvingly as she admires his cursed flesh. She hisses a short welcome to the brujo, but does not bow, as is customary for equines to do. If anything, she believes the hessian should bow to her. Perhaps, if he shows the proper respect to her, she will return the gesture. It is funny, underneath all her showy actions, she can actually be quite an affectionate vixen, but very rarely does she show it.
As he spins round and shows him her hindquarters, she smirks flirtatiously, in the mood for a little fun. Giving a short, energetic half-rear, her stalwart hinds propell her forward into a rapid three-beats,
carrying her frame past the brujo's in a moment. As she sweeps past him, she carefully brushes her rump with his, spinning round instantly and arching her nape, her glossy banners falling in soft strands to her angled blades. Her finely-featured crania twists into a seductive smirk as she circles the czar, her paces steady and her movements fluid. Satisfied that she has caught the attention of the beast, she quickly parts her cursers to address the brute in her tones, a slight hiss tainting her vocals, as is always the case.
"Brute," she says simply, sonar pricked attenively to capture his response. [.x.]
Arabian - February 27, 2007 06:33 PM (GMT)
The russet czar snorted menacingly in way of the vix. Auds attentive yet in the distinct mindset of instant loathing for her. Disgraceful, she flaunting about before him, above all sending the message that he show respect to her! Glaring through narrowly slitted visionaries he felt the brush of her flank against his. Lashing out his hind pillars at her, he narrowly missed, baring ivory fangs his cranium flew upwards, ebon banners as smooth as her's and falling once more into their dignified position. The masc, seething fire burning within his frame, wheeled towards her, resisting the strong urge to once more lash out upon her perfect flesh. He would never show respect, nor could he. Dominantly aware of his exceeding power he would never bow, twould not matter for her to be a goddess. His cran would stay high, containing his dignity for he would never fall to the pathetic measures that foolish weaklings depended upon for their safety. Dangerous actions? Oh yes. Did he care? Not in hell's name.
As the minx arched her neck, that seductive little annoying smirk playing over her...somewhat...elegant features. As this thought crossed over the demons mind he gave another snort, more vicious with the taint of s snarl hidden amongst them. Her paces quite even and every move perfected he was momentarily transfixed upon her, though his expression remained of quite loathing. He watched her circle about him, yes she had his attention, twas undoubtfully present. But he would not fall for her tricks and desire to have him respect her, if she even considered that, she had better think again. Not when the bastard was still alive would he bow even once, not to reoyalty and certainly not to an annoying little belle that thought herself above him. Shaking free from his disdinguised reveree by her curt hiss, he sneered back, now staring straight ahead of him. Catching only her movements as she passed before him. Like she, he parted ignorant librims and responded in hateful tunes.
"Bytch," Amber nape arched high above the czar's strong shoulders. Long apendages straight and strongly lithened supporting his elite frame. His satin banner lashed out, catching her chest as she circled behind him. Though he disliked the idea of forcing a brat upon anyone to punish this annoying wench was quite relaxing..No, though already he loathed her, twas not in his nature. Unkind in words, he was quite the gentlemen.
[.x.] Freedom - March 8, 2007 08:05 PM (GMT)
[.x.] The wench smirks slightly as she notices that the brute seems to be beoming increasingly riled. Hearing, and then discarding, his vicious snort, the bruja meets the brutes narrowed orbs and gazes into them for a moment, afore prancing in an astonishingly agile way out of range of the brute attack on her flank, daggers assailing the geo as she moves. Snorting slightly in sarcastic laughter as he bares his fangs at her, behaving as though he were a silly little coltine, the ebon minx growls softly as she senses the blazing inferno of rage and pent-up anger inside the hellions flesh. She resumes her circling of his frame, throwing her pillars out in the showy fashion that comes so naturally to her. Her pools consider his divinely masculine frame for a moment, but then she drops her gaze and arches her nape, banners falling in soft strands in a seductive way, her striking visage just visible through the velvety dreads. Noticing for a moment that he seems to be transfixed by her, she gives him a soft little smile, full of promise and seduction.
And as soon as that respect in his eyes has appeared, it is gone again. But the czaressa is not fooled this time. She has seen the brute inside, the one which his tough outer shell of dominance and arrogance usually hides. And now she knows she can make those feelings appear in him, she is even more determined to charm him. Noticing him shake himself violently, probably an attempt to rid himself of any feeling for her other than hate, the minx whickers slightly in laughter, the sunlight breaking through the clouds for a moment and casting a soft light upon her frame, reflecting in golden band across her glittering tresses, and highlighting the immense grace and elegance of every tapered limb, every graceful curve of her frame, and every delicate feature of her visage. As he responds to her in as rude a way as she addressed him before, she laughs slightly and looks the brute deep in his orbs, allowing him to make the next advances. [.x.]
Arabian - March 26, 2007 10:22 PM (GMT)
Oh yes, he despised her. Every inch of his staining inferno gave her that message. Lucid orbs met hers unblinkingly, letting her no further into his mind than the deep corset barrier blocking her every attempt to seduce him. At her inticive little laughter, the czar rolled his maddening pools glaring away from her in bored tones of incredulity and defiance. So she wanted to play games? Then he would match them, giving no sign that inwardly he was careening through insanity with laughter and spiteful amusement. He stepped in her path, caring not if she had to shift away from his cut-off. So she wanted to show-off, eh? Fine. His golden knees matched her silken movements, lifted high and flashing in the reflected cascade of beauty from the sun. His curvature arched regally, quite handsome he had transformed himself into a gentlemen in a second, his perfectly muscled hue curved with every sleek movement. Until, he whisked his haunches around in a half-pivot and changed the circle from her annoying little merry-go-round on him, to his bouncing little mezmerizing gentlemn stature upon her.
A barely audible smirk hidden upon his maw was the only key for the wench to know of his plan, one lucid tipped audit cupped inward towards her playing his intrest to her. Watching her every move and expression he figured that she would know of his game, that he was playing a mind trick upon her, but who really knew, bytches like this one who thought they were the key to his heart were obviously not as intelligent as they appeared to be, so, he masked his internal inferno and showed off his own frame, for hers now simply annoyed him.
Stepping his trot further forward, the ebon socks that reached his knees slight flashes, even though the tempo of his rythmn was slow and distinct. Ribbons of his silken banner caught glitters of light and reverberated as bits of moisture that hung in the air fell down upon their pelts, inaudibly sending his even further in it's czarly form. No word escaped his maw as he flashed before her, keeping on close visionary fixed upon her, he tossed his cran, snorting in a vicious sort of way before he stepped further away from her, his circle now leading in a path away from her, until he stopped and stood quite still, not giving her another glance as he stood once more, silently in his dim darkness, giving her not even one more thought.
[.x.] Freedom - May 28, 2007 09:08 AM (GMT)
[.x.] The czarina leaps gracefully to one side as the brute interrupts her circular path, ebonite daggers assailing the geo with grace and elegance. Pulling her frame up sharply, finely featured crania held high atop an arched curvature, the elegant czaress eyes the brujo with her dark, mysterious, almost penetrating stare. As the brute stares back into her orbs, with what seems like anger, and also slightly contempt within them, Agana stares cooly back in clear and utter boredom, tapping one obsidian flint upon the grassy terrain passively. The hessian suddenly springs into actions; she does too, her own flashy paces matching his own, silken banner held above her haunches, pillars moving like liquid through the wilting grasses of this godforsaken land. When the brute turns the demoness slides to a gentle halt, their roles reversed. Now it is the hellion who is showing off, and Medea the one observing casually. Somewhat suspicious of this sudden change in persona, from angered brujo to handsome gentlemen, the bruja follows him with her orbs, that hauntingly beautiful, almost chilling gaze boring into him, and never once leaving. That same gaze captures the smug little smile upon the brutes maw, and the suspicions of the minx increase. Noticing the oh-so-subtle inward turn of his aud, Agana suddenly suspects she knows what he is playing at. Aye, she may be a bruja of great beauty, but she is far from stupid.
The brujo continues his prancing; the wench continues her watching. This carries on for minutes, and just when Agana is just about to turn and head for home, and leave the brujo to his silly games, she notices his circle is becoming ever wider, and just as her stationary daggers begin to follow the bastard as he moves away, he stops. Right there. Obviously not giving her one more thought. Her unparted librims curve into what was intended to form words, but the shadowed minx simply stays silent. Standing perfectly still for a moment, the only noise between the two the rush as the wind and the rustling of the grasses and foliage upon this somewhat barren land, Agana spins her haunches around, and, after casting a short look back to the brute, propells herself forward into a rapid two beats, each fluid movement of her pillars carrying her further and furhter away from the brute. She reaches a downward slope in the terrain; a sudden change in the landscape. Pillars navigating expertly down it, the brujo disappearing from her sight, to be replaced by naught but mud and the occaisional bundle of moss or foliage, the striking czarina slides to a quick halt and waits. Waits to see whether the brute will actually wants her to go. He knows where she is, all it takes is for him to follow. [.x.]
Arabian - June 28, 2007 10:57 PM (GMT)
Cold, damp orbs of seething emotions set into her features as he studies her silently. His eyes no longer glared in a threatening manner, like she, they were filled with a distinct boredom and lack of caring. And in a slight way, a hint of tiredness and increased incapability to keep his attention. His ebon banner, tressed with streaks of deep mahogany, snapped maliciously at his golden hide irritably, somewhat reflecting his mood. His pools narrow, furrowing his brow so that the equally elegant forelock drapes dramatically over his eyes. He was suddenly aware of her thoughts, that she had gained knowledge of his game, what he was obviously not prepared for was her sudden dismissal of him. He seemed to twitch violently, jerking his cranium upward, the whites of his eyes visible. But it was more a deliciously surprised action than that of fear. She had bought into the plan of his escapades. For one as beautiful as she, it was not possible that she was without a home, he needed one. Not wanted, needed. He cared not for her company or her annoying presence, but nevertheless, his long masculine legs stretched forward, lazily meandering after her in a soft, terribly slow walk.
His deep charcoals kept a close watch upon her receding frame, until she finally was out of his sight. Balthazar then lowered his smug maw to the earth, wisened eyes following the small, dainty hoofprints that were arranged in perfect fashion upon the mud and geo. He came steadily closer to the decline of hill that she had dissapeared down, lifting his crown, he tucked it comfortably against his bold nape, so that, as he came to edge, he saw her clearly from below. He snorted almost violently, tossing his handsome skull so that the mahogany streaked tresses were sent into their gentlemanly stature, capturing the beauty that he faught her for, that they somehow, in different shades, shared. He moved naught from his regal spot upon the top of the cliff, looking down at her, in the manner that he looked upon everyone. As though they were lower than he, and that, he honestly believed.
[.x.] Freedom - July 14, 2007 08:26 AM (GMT)
[.x.]A cold wind blows mercilessly down the decline of the grassy slope, ruffling Agana's soft ebon dreads, to lay them again upon her curvature, the smoky grey strands complementing perfectly the silken mass of her peltage. Shifting her haunches around so that she is shielded from the winds slightly, the demoness turns her gaze to the decline of the slope, attentive sonar pricked, listening intently for the flint-falls of the brute. She is so sure that he will follow her, that, even though all of her instincts tell her to turn around and go home (wherever that may be) to gain shelter from the bitter elements, Agana stays and battles her winds, grateful for the bushes halting most of the breeze before it reaches her. Her pillars gradually growing stiffer and stiffer, due to the raging winds, the 'ess sighs irritably, stretching one of her fore pilars elegantly, ignoring the twinges of protest it makes when blood is forced back around it. Just as she settles back to waiting again, she hears hoof-beats. Taking a few steps forward, the vix listens to the arrogant way on which the daggers are placed upon the geo, and knows that it is Balthazar approaching. A triumphant smirk upon her librims, the bruja tosses her finely-featured cran and holds it high atop her curved nape, a show of utter pride and beauty for the brute. Catching his divinely masculine scent upon the breeze, the 'ess looks up to the crest of the hill, where the brute now appears.
As he watches her with what seems like contempt and distaste, Agna steps forward, growling a soft greeting to the stag. Dagger is placed after elegant dagger, travelling slowly up the gradual incline of the hill to meet Balthazar at its peak. Once she is a few paces away, the wench halts, and looks at him, the only movement thatof her banners fluttering in the wind. Mysterious orbs drinking in his handsome appearance, Agana advances a few more steps, her ebon daggers just visible over the long, harsh grasses that somehow manage to survive upon these desolate plains. Her cerebrum is free from emotions, except for a slight hint of seduction that is present in her chilling, but hauntingly beautiful opticals. She reaches the brute, and he makes no advances, so the vix takes it upon herself. Extending her velventeen so it just brushes the masculines ebonite pelt, Agana meets his orbs, and stares into them, the silence between them speaking more than words. She didn't have a home - neither did he. It made sense that they were together. If the brute wants that, he just has to let her know.[.x.]
Arabian - July 15, 2007 01:46 AM (GMT)
The cold wind drives his coarset locks haphazardly about his handsome features and wrapped themselves around his hind apendages. Narrowing his orbs against their stinging ends he allows his skull to fall away from his thick nape, releiving part of the pressure he had been applying to it to keep his tassels from burning his dark pools. As the obsidian locks continue to tear and snatch at his delecate oculars he tosses his head skyward, throwing them back against the wind's will. As his cranium bobbed back to it's normal position, his eye caught the form of the hess making her way slowly and carefully up the gradual incline towards him. He shifted from one hind hock to the other, dropping his hip in a relaxed manner. His dark pools closed momentarily, finding this whole escapade rather boring. Thus, he yawned, letting his golden crown fall from it's noble position to rest lazily before him. He began to pay less and less attention to the minx that came steadily closer and closer to his side. He blinked slowly, letting his silken dreds whip around his face this time without fuss. But he began to realize that her hoofbeats were not as far off as they appeared. She came steadily nearer and nearer to him and before he was entirely back into the real world she was upon him.
He raised his golden crown slowly, inch by inch it climbed back up to it's usualy held height. Balthazar watched with meager intrest as she reached out her velveteen maw to touch his golden hue lightly. It tickled his hide so that his flesh twitche madly where the essence of her touch had left a sort of brand on him. He eyed her curiously, wondering, What the hell is she doing? Slightly unnerved and now cautious of her, he met her gaze unflinchingly, but soon, he began to understand. Like he, she had no home, and he knew that even though by ability alone he ould survive, it was always an asset to have a second source. So as the understandment between them excelled, he did something that seeled the pact formed between them.
"Balthazar."
And that was all, so arrogant was he that he could not attempt to reach out to her, felt that there was not enough love in his heart to do more than give her his name. He had no practice in the thing called love, nor did he feel they shared it. Yet? I doubt it. But he was not to assume anything, the right was not a given to him.
[.x.] Freedom - July 24, 2007 11:55 AM (GMT)
[.x.]Agana considered the brute with dark opticals, harks cupped attentively atop her countenance. She tossed her crown irritably as the wind tore at her ashen banners, whipping into her orbs and stinging them. Mirroring the action of the czar, the bytch tucked her cerebrum into the curve of her nape, in doing so securing her banners and preventing them from flying everywhere. As her pools observed him, Agana noticed how distant from her he seemed. Coughing slightly to catch his attention, the vix shifted her weight from one hind pillar to the other, relieving the pressure upon her left side and transferring it to her right. As the brute stared back into her oculi and slowly raised his crown, the femme wondered if she had startled him. It seemed he had not been aware of her presence until a few moments back. She had caught him off guard. Resisting the urge to also throw her poll to the same level as his, Agana kept her librims unparted as she allowed the silence between them to thicken. It seemed that the brujo was considering something. As her own velveteen brushed his pelt, a small smirk of amusement spread across her maw as his flesh twitched in a sort of reflex in response to her ever-tender touch. Retreating her dial from his larger frame, Agana returned to her previous posture - holding herself with dignity and pride, the arrogance clearly etched within her facade and physique.
A small sigh escaped her librims as the only sound reaching her sonar was that of the screaming wind, and the only movement caught by her orbs was her own rippling banners. The czar afore her seemed to be deep in thought. As his optics change direction to meet her own enchanting gaze, Agana too stares back without blinking, making it plain to the brute how she expects tobe treated. She was not a pushover - mess with her and she would be gone in a second, never to appear again. She would describe herself as 'high-maintenence', to put it plainly. It would require at least some effort from the hellion to persuade her to stay at his side. Three syllables reached her auds - Balthazar. A fine curse for one of his stature. It suited him. Her cran tilted slightly downward in confirmation that she had heard his speech. She offered no elaboration to her movement, glad it was the brujo who had broken the silence. The disturbed air particles around them settling once again into silence, the bytch decided that she may as well answer him, but not without leaving him hanging. She met his now almost enquiring orbs and stayed silent for a fraction too long afore parting her librims and answering her. Her subtle trick of leaving the silence between them present for a few moments more than was absolutely necessary had worked - the brute now bestowed his full attention upon her.
"Agana." came the sweet lyricals from the wench. Her words dripped with sugar, giving the brute a hint of her true personality. She didn't ususally take things seriously unless they warranted her full respect. That would be how she would defend her flirtatious actions toward the brute. She was bored. She wanted some fun. Anything she wanted, she would get it, and she wanted this brute.[.x.]
Arabian - July 30, 2007 09:34 PM (GMT)
The hellion was quite a puzzling creature, for he was indeed the epitimy of unpredictable. At one point in their small 'conversation' as you may want to call it, a steadfast change of personality was genisising in the inner core of the brute. A moment after he had spoken the word 'Balthazar' changed what he had been seemingly transformed into knowing. Nothing was visual on the outside, except that he turned his arrogant crown back over the steep slope that threatened them and his dark orbs gazed mesmorizingly upon nothing before him but the vast air surrounding them. But a blistering heat coursed it's way through his frame, for one emotion had flooded his body that began this burning hatred. No, not of love, for he had no prctice in this emotion, therefore, his body gave no heed for it to take it's path. Nor was it consideration, he did not consider this annoying bytch to be something more than that, the emotion is not one that is able to define in words, it is something of a mystery for centuries unknown to even the wisest.
Yet as the inferno flamed within, his mind overtook it's course, and a rush of ice and coldness formed itself over every part inside him. He would not let her in, no matter who much the tides told her she got what she wanted, she would not have him, he would not allow it. But little did he know of her plans, for he, being quite as normal, or as close to it, as one may consider, was not able to perform the task of understanding her. Nor did he try. He was not caring, for the ice bared his way. His heart? Nonexistant. Alas many a dark claimed there was no heart for them to behold, but thruthfully in Balthazar, there was none. He had no feelings, no compassion for any soul, alas as he started away from her, his mind was blank except for the one word floating about in the dust that evaded his dreams, 'Agana'. Unfortunately for him, it was only a namem, and that was all. He could not claim that he had any love for her, love was non-existant, love was a creature's downfall. From the years before where the demon had haunted him, the spirit would allow him no feelings. Love? Kindness? Compassion? 'What the hell are those things?'
As though a jolt had been surged throughout his entire body, he turned his handsome cranium back onto her. The inferno that was laced with frozen ice blazed in his pools, a sign of warning, a threat. He was not to expect that she feared him, mare's enjoyed being reckless and unpredictable, that he knew. So he didn't so much as attempt to reason with her, or give her any other sign but having had enough of her foolish and petty games. The change was a startling one for moments ago he had been stationary, as though lifeless and deceased. Now he was vibrant, full of life, in unfortunately the most outrageous nightmare one could ever dream of.
"I will not be played with to get you what you want, bytch."
The icy venom issued from his fangs was provocative. His deep tones were laced with a threatening substance. 'Who does she think she's kidding?!' What kind of a fool do I look like?!' Indeed he was quite over her once intoxicating games, thus, his cranium was raised to it's full regal capacity before he gave one giant leap forward. His hind pillars were extraordinarily lithe and muscular, they pushed off the sod with great strength and came down on the other side of the hill. He tucked his hindquarters in behind him as he slid down the hill.
Upon reaching the bottom, he was so full of hatred that he was in a distinct rage. He was a danger to all, including himself. Lifting his skull upward his maw faced her, a distinct look of wrath upon his cerebrum, it was all up to her now. Thus, he pivoted upon his heels to wheel 'round and stare in the direction of the exit. 'Dammit, now what?'
[.x.] Freedom - August 6, 2007 08:34 PM (GMT)
[.x.] The bytch watched the bronc she now knew as Balthazar for a moment, her ashen forelock flipping into her orbs as her stationary frame turned to consider him. She was obviously not at all bothered by his actions. Actually, she was finding them more amusing than frightening. He was the typical brute - loud, aggressive, dominant. Probably a chauvinist too. Brutes like that always thought they were bloody gods, able to lord over all the little wenches. They might think they were gods, but to Agana they were nothing more than bloody idiots.
Yet there was something in his optics which made Agana begin to doubt that thought. Yes, he had the image flawlessly perfected, but there was still that small seed of doubt niggling away at the bytch's mind as the wind snatched and tore at her ebonite dreads. Surely all equids were capable of that thing called love? True, it was a mystery for many, something that was debated, squabbled over, and sometimes even fought for. But even though for some love was an emotion they believed themselves immune to, it would only take one small nudge to break down the barrier this brujo seemed to have put up around his 'heart', for want of a better word. Wasn't it the natural way of life for love to flourish between a pair? To attempt to block out an emotion like that was like cutting off your head and trying to ignore it. You couldn't. She already had proof he was capable of love anyway - the fact that he seemed to be incredibly besotted with himself. Many a brute had a clouded view of his own existence, but the czar's extraordinarily boosted view of his own self-worth was rather astonishing. In fact it was rather amusing.
Her attention turned back to the bronc as his cran was titled slightly to gaze in another direction. It was strangely quiet - the silence buzzing back and forth between them was almost eerie in the utter emptiness of it. Left with nothing than to amuse herself than her mind, Agana wondered what h was thinking. It was apparent he was thinking of something, and that something had to be quite important for the silence between them to linger for this long. Gaze sweeping passively over his frame, the czaressa tapped a flint boredly, awaiting any sort of action from the brute. Had it not been for the gentle rise and fall of his belly as his nares sucked in breath, Agana would have wondered whether he was rendered immobile by some invisible force. For all she knew, he could have been frozen where he stood. A slight smirk playing upon her librims at that thought, the bruja drew her whipcord over her silken flanks, waiting for some movement on his behalf...
That movement she sought after came almost suddenly, the swiftness of his movement made her flesh twitch in a reflex as her body responded to his movements. Cursing herself silently for making herself look a fool, Aganas dark lanters quickly scour the terrain for the brute - as he has disappeared from her vision. Finally finding him, the bruja was halted in her vocals by the look upon his facade. The czar was seething with boiling, blistering rage. Only one question entered her dreambox - why? She knew her antics could sometimes prove to be a little irritating, but the look in his orbs was that of pure loathing. Surely she was not that annoying? Her sonar pricked as her mind pondered this, catching the vocals of the brute as he growls them from a distance away. A faint smile played upon her librims a moment later, frame turned in the opposite direction of the bronc, giving him a charming view of naught but her ashen rump. 'You just wait brute. You'll come back of your own accord - it will take no playing on my part'. Agana broke into a flashy two beat as she moved away from the brute slowly. After only a few paces, her pillars halted and her nape was lowered to allow her maw to reach the addmitedly rather chewy yellowing blades beneath her pillars. She turned her nape ever so slightly in his direction, making it clear to the brute she was watching him. This was his last chance. If he wanted her to leave - she would, but she would be gone forever. Did he really want that? It was time to test whether the young brujo had a heart after all. [.x.]
Arabian - August 7, 2007 08:18 PM (GMT)
His breathing was burning his lungs as his pulse quickened with intensity. He exhaled sharp rasps that weezed as he breathed back in. His golden hue was flecked with beeds of sweat as he stared without seeing into the bleak darkness of the unknown world ahead of him. A circle of white formed around his dark eyes as he continued to stare, not out of fear, Agana did not give him any reason for that. It was out of spite for himself, anger and repulsion. He knew that she had a weapon, a weapon in which gave her the upperhand of him, the bit where he had lost his senses and showed her something of himself. Unfortunately for him, she knew how to use it, and without mercy. She was a ruthless, dispicable creature whom now Balthazar wanted nothing to do with, but he yearned for company. He had been alone for years, the companionship, even of one he now despised so much would be slight bliss. Though some say that once you are alone, you are always alone. Defiant and vainly aware that he should victorize over this dreadful prophecy, he became stressed and slightly overwhelmed. Returning to his harsh senses, his ebon tipped maw tilted slightly so as to view her without her knowledge of him doing so. What he found did nothing but increase his want od departure.
Her rump turned to him, it was clear she expected him to do her bidding. Keep wishing. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, that she could clearly see what he was doing. He rolled his pools obviously before turning his back on her once more. Flicking his ashen banner smoothly he gave her the exact message. He would not fall to her orders, become frail and pathetic at her desire of him. She must consider him some pitiful colt who needed direction. He shook his head from side to side in an exasperated undertone, giving a faint bit of laughter beneath his voice so she could not hear. But he needn't have worried, she expected him to be the one to fall, alas, her expectations of him were all but ruined as he began to walk away. Once more placing his jugular against the base of his nape for safety, he set off away from her, taking his time for he was in no rush, where else did he have to go? But this time it would be her who made the decision, not him, he would not fall to her arrogance and let her control him.
Balthazar was an odd name, one that stuck out from the crowd, therefore his personality made no difference. Normal was not in his vocabulary, he was an exception from all others.
[.x.] Freedom - August 7, 2007 09:25 PM (GMT)
[.x.] The vixen looked with slight surprise to Balthazar as her auds caught his heavy, almost laboured breathing. What the devil is he up to now? Her head tilted slightly to allow herself a better view of his frame, which was, to her utter amazement, now flecked with tiny sweat beads, glinting in the pale light. Now struck with the realization of how bloody stubborn this brute was, Agana straightened up her boa and turned to him, dark eyes seeking him out through the mist. She caught a sight of him through the haze and watched in silence, holding her tongue until the moment was right. He was proud - almost too proud, and so consumed by the illusion of his utter self worth that he had turned into this, a stallion who started hyperventilating every time a wench dared to stand up for herself and ask for a little effort on his part. Well, she wasn't going to stand for it. Her ashen haunches turned effortlessly and began to move away from the brute, dismissing him with one elegant toss of her dial. She couldn't take living with a creature such as him. Loving was out of the question also. She had never experienced love before, well, she supposed the love of her sun-kisser w.hore of a dam counted, but not from a stallion - let alone an arrogant pig like Balthazar. Yet strangely, the further away her hooves carried her, the harder it was for her. Every step that fell upon the barren ground was gradually requiring more and more effort, until eventually Agana halted silently and looked back at Balthazar, her mane flying in a thousand different directions as the wind ravaged it.
To her surprise, he was gone. Only the swirling vapour in front of her gave her a clue as to his direction. Before her incredibly stubborn mind could stop her, Agana was two-beating rapidly in his direction, pillars eating up the ground before her as she moved. What am I doing? Her paces slowed for a moment and an almost concerned look crossed her eyes. She looked almost... vulnerable in the way she stood, like a little flicka who had lost her dam. Oh yes, she was tough on the outside, and acted like she didn't care about anything or anyone, but on the inside she was terrified of rejection. Her father had deserted her the moment he laid eyes on her, the only reason he had force-bred her light b.itch mother was to ensure himself a male heir to the lands his family had resided in for centuries. She could still remember the look of disgust he gave her when his orbs fell upon her frame for the first time. She tore her thoughts away from the past with a low growl, which almost sounded like a cry of pain as it echoed through the plains, and looked toward the direction in which Balthazar had gone with a hardening stare. He had completely the wrong impression of her - and she was sure her impression of him was not that accurate either. It was up to her now to make the first move. And so, with an almost eager pace, the wench trotted quietly toward the stag. She could just make out his frame as it grew nearer and nearer, until suddenly she was upon him, and Agana found herself without a clue of what to say.
"Brut- Balthazar. You obviously need a home, or at least a companion. So do I." Bluffing uncertainly, and stumbling over her words a little, Agana finished what she had to say in a rather inelegant way, although the message was clear in what she had said. Agana sucked in a deep breath and lowered her eyes, and inclined her head for a moment in a sign of respect, a big thing for such a proud mare as herself. Like Balthazar, Agana was different. Different because she could feel emotions, even though sometimes she pretended she couldn't. It must have been her experiences as a little filly that caused what she considered such a ...weakness inside her. She had made the first move - and it was up to Balthazar now. [.x.]
Arabian - August 8, 2007 12:51 AM (GMT)
Lithe apendages stretched before him as he wandered through the dense thicket's of mist that swirled before him, hazing his vision to blindness. His pupil's dilated, attempting to peer, without victory, through the grey mass. Consuming frustration boiled to the top of his emotions, what used to be sweat was replaced by clear crystals of pure water that were peppered all across his golden hue. Magnificently boned and well structured the dew did nothing but enhance his fine curves and masculenity. Pausing in his haste to depart, he glanced around him, slightly frustrated. The mist was not so thick, but why was his vision so blurred? The answer came from the dizzying thoughts that bubbled through his skull. A haze of darkness, he blundered through it, struggling to keep himself astride the creature that bounded ahead of him. He called it back, but no sound could penetrate the mist that.... He shook his cranium violently, all bis obsidian tassels flying through the air viciously. His mind was overflowing, overwhelmed and now exhausted as the thoughts came back. He could not stop them, they were too powerful. A sound. A footstep. The clashing of gaits. The words of men. He was terrified, driven mad by the fear of the unknown. Crowded in between other equines, they themselves tearing viciously at the rest, screaming.... He gave a small cry of fury, closing his angered pools to the world surrounding him. No longer did he remember the bytch behind him. She became invisible, until her hoofbeats caught his attention and he stood quite still, not a muscle moving, nor his flesh tingling.
Something fell over his face, sliding down to his neck where it tightened, threatening to throttle him at any moment. He flung himself against it, but felt it's wrath as it shrank smaller and smaller the longer her struggled... He flew back to the present, he felt as though he could feel the ropes still around his neck, daring him to move, daring him to bring upon him his own death. Something was jammed down heavily upon his back, his knees buckleded and he fell heavily upon his front limbs. He was reched upward by a metal bar that tore at the corners of his mouth. Blood slowly dripped down, falling into the dust and sorrow.... His tongue lolled out from his mouth, attempting to lick the corner's of his mouth where still the small scars remained from the lethal metal that he loathed so much. Flinging his skull skyward, he rid himself of the memories that the mist returned to him. He blundered on through it, letting the dew slip down his frame in a soothing caress of softness and relaxation. For being as troubled as he, his pace was quite steady, perfect you may say. Though the cowboys had driven him mad, attempting to climb aboard his back and worst of all, use the burning metal stick on his shoulder. He could still feel the singed hairs as the glowing stick was dropped before it touched him as a wild bang sounded over the grounds. The man had fallen, a pool of red liquid spreading about him. It was then he knew, man was dangerous, man could kill man, that would mean they had no trouble killing another species.
Hoofbeats. But wait, these were real, not in his head. He stopped, squaring himself up, ready for the attack...which never came. They were hoofbeats of the femme, coming steadily, nearer and nearer until they were upon him. He did not look at her in satisfaction, his expression was quite blank, no expression, no emotion. He was rid of all caring, all feelings. Hatred, Love, Loathing, Despising. None of them existed anymore. She was Agana. He was Balthazar. That was all he knew, that was all he remembered. Until her almost desperate sounding vocals reached his auds. But she sounded as though she were lying, he knew not why this thought came to him, but it was what he thought. He was yet to trust her, something about her said that she was a complete lie. This annoying, defiant bytch she protrayed on the outside was not entirely who she was. Just as him. Inside, he overflowed with fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of what was out there, what had done all those horrible things to him. Fear of everything that he didn't understand. He surveyed her through oddly blank orbs, they said nothing, told her nothing. Once he had been filled with rage. Raging emotions..it's bliss. He cocked his skull sideways for a momemt as she lowered her tiara, he seemed to be a foolish coltine who was basically thinking, "What the hell is she doing? Is she broken?" But then reality snapped back to him and he knew everything that had happened and more. Surprise was flung back into his oculars as he continued to watch her.
It seemed he would not return the honor of troubled respect she had given him, as it took him minutes to really comprehend the pretense of everything. But as everything came together he did not bow, but spoke softly, slow, deliberately, as though each word were choosen carefully. Yet his words were laced with his still releshing distrust and the intention for her to know she was not fully believed, still, what was life if there were no chances? "That is true. If you wish it, wherever my home may be, it can be your's as well." He told her, somewhat bluntly as he faced her with an air of concience. It took him a moment, until his golden cranium bowed to her as well, and he was just as vulnerable as she, they were not so different after all.
[.x.] Freedom - August 14, 2007 03:30 PM (GMT)
[.x.] The dawn had begun, and upon the brightening horizon a variety of colours cascaded over the formerly dark sky, the clouds alight with a glorious palette of pink, orange, purple, red - although not a drop of blue was in sight. Clouds lingered stubbornly over the warming sun, blocking out its radiant brightness and leaving a stillness, damp and moist, over the entire realm. Clouds of mist hung almost serenely in the air, patterning the ground with small dewdrops which glinted in the pale light. Agana’s flesh twitched slightly as it was sprinkled with the fine droplets of moisture, soaking her to the skin. Her dark eyes sought out Balthazar through the haze, drinking in his masculine frame almost hungrily as a blank look crossed the brutes face. Yet it not was just Balthazar whose appearance had been enhanced by the dew. The moisture upon Agana's pelt glinted along every slender curve of her frame, from the dignified curve of her nape to her shapely pillars and delicate hooves. Her tiara tipped to one side questioningly as Balthazar remained utterly still, as if frozen to the spot. What is he up to now? He was so unpredictable; she never knew what he was going to do next. In truth, it made her a little nervous, as he could lunge forward and rip out her throat without her having a clue what he was doing before it was too late. It was because of that thought that, as his cran suddenly bobbed up and down, the femme shied to one side suddenly, a growl escaping her lips before she could prevent it. His eyes were lidded, and his breathing became short, almost laboured as the time passed. What the hell is he doing? It was almost like he was meditating, but, judging by the permanently pained look fixed upon his cerebrum, Agana could guess whatever he was experiencing was anything but pleasant.
There was an emptiness in the air, a loneliness within the near deserted lands. The kind of peaceful atmosphere that coaxed the mind into deep thought. It was this intoxicating air that drew Agana's attentions to the fact that the look on Balthazar's face seemed strangely familiar. It was like the look on her fathers face when he saw her for the first time. That look had quickly turned to disgust when he realised that she was not the beloved colt he had dreamed of. She remembered squealing in delight at the appearance of a newcomer within the quiet midsts of the birthing lands. She remembered prancing up to the brute - but that was when the memories stopped. All she knew from then on was darkness, and pain. Turned out the bastard had tried to shatter her skull, preferring to have her dead than live with the shame of having a female heir. She had woken up a few days later to the sight of her dead mother's corpse, and her father nowhere to be seen. She could only guess the wench's last action was to throw herself in front of her foal. Instinctively, her dark gaze travelled to her left shoulder blade, running down the raised laceration that had been there since she was a foal. She had no idea how it got there, and she supposed she would never find out. All she knew was that it reminded her of her past - a past that she was dreadfully ashamed of.
It was quite a while before the silence was broken. The femme's gaze turned to Balthazar as he spoke his carefully chosen words. A look of surprise crossed her visage for second before her gaze flicked up to meet his own, searching his eyes for any sign of deceit. Yet she could not find any. This fact was more puzzling than anything. She had expected him to be gloating over her by now at the fact she had given in to him. Her lips parted to form words, but she was silenced as his crown bowed to her. She stood there rather uncomfortably, keeping her gaze averted as she saw the vulnerability in his features. It seemed she had been wrong about him. He was not the vile, arrogant creature she believed him to be after all, and it was this fact above all which drove her to her next action. Her ebon maw extended slowly through the atmosphere to brush her velveteen with his own, relishing the softness of his pelt. Her eyes met his in the morning silence, and an unspoken emotion crept into her orbs. She didn't feel alone anymore. She had longed for a companion for longer than she could remember, and through the years her tough exterior had developed, which put most brutes off the moment they laid eyes on her. But not Balthazar. Like her, he was different from the others which called themselves Dark. She shared the same nature and attitude of most Shadowed equines, but unlike the others, she was terrified of rejection. Balthazar seemed to be the same. She withdrew her muzzle suddenly with a sharp intake of breath as she realised what she was doing. She had gone too far, she knew that, but she couldn't help herself. A fearful look filled her eyes as Balthazar seemed to give no reaction to her touch. She had probably scared him off now. Her breath caught in her throat, hardly daring to look at him as she awaited a reaction. [.x.]
Arabian - August 22, 2007 10:31 PM (GMT)
There was something oddly strange in Balthazar. Something sort of...unexplainable. He himself was an unsolved mystery, a book that was waiting to be written, yet the pencil had never been sharpened. He could and would never be classified as intelligent, for to be brutally honest, he wasn't. Balthazar had never entirely mastered his intelligence level, he could have been great, incredible for that matter. But as life continued, he stayed the same. He couldn't control his emotions, like a raging teenagers. His temper was unbelievable, childish in fact. It was the reason he barely spoke, the reason he hardly did anything. For every action, every emotion he gave off was strange. Unreadable. Unbelievable. But Balthazar. That was all he had left, the only thing he could ever say he was proud of. His name, quite unlike any other known, sounded exceedingly intelligent. But alas, it did not fit the stallion it had unfortunately been given to. The blundering, stupid creature, who now possessed only one emotion. Lazyness. His eyes were droopy, and he seemed not to care of what was going on about him. A glazed look came over him, as though in a trance, but his mind was oddly blank. Filled with nothing, nothing but air, nothing. The poor, poor creature, what could have been intelligence, stood as lazyness. His one downfall was himself believing that there was nothing in life for him, nothing to live for. He soley believed that he was just a grain of sand, part of a million, not standing out.
He was passively unware that he had just done something, until everything soared back into him. All feeling, all memory, even mind. Wait...what did I just do? Had he actually bowed? He snorted, unnerved with himself? "Now why did I do that...." He wondered aloud to himself. Then an unknown maw stretched out too him and touched his, and his large orbs fell upon a mare. When did she get here? He lurched sideways, churning the dirt beneath his flints as he galloped a few long strided, powerful, paces away from her. Catching a glimpse of the fear in her eye he slowed...then stopped. He turned around to gaze curiously at her. "Oh no...did I do something wrong? That's bad...Bad Balthazar!" It was not him, not his voice, not his persona. It was that of a child's...a foal's. He seemed to mentally punish himself as he tossed his cranium several times. Then his eyes were alive once more, intense and full of fury. Seconds later, they were lazy again. "Damn this is not my day....damned headache." He tilted his head to the side as though to shake the head ache out of his ears. All through this his was not awares of Agana, purely confined only to the space he stood in, knowing that only himself was being stupid.
He looked up at her, this time it was the true Balthazar, the one she had originally met before. "Past rejections are terrible things aren't they..." This time, misery was shown clearly in his eyes as he looked to the ground beneath them. His lids were heavy with tiredness and stress from the strain his madness had taken upon him. It was all in a memory and nothing more. It appeared unlikely that it would ever happen again, but the past would linger forever in his mind. No matter the consequences. He wondered what she would think of him...now that his outburst was unexplained. If she returned to her original state he wouldn't blame her, not one bit. If she wished to leave him alone again, that too he would deal with. Suffer? No. Just because there was no more room to feel.
[.x.] Freedom - August 31, 2007 03:19 PM (GMT)
[.x.] Agana was never the most likeable of females. She wasn't the stereotypical Dark mare, a bitch with a fiery temperament and a bad attitude to match, although she had practiced acting like this so many times her mask was almost permanent. She was almost... fragile in the way she looked, this startling change of heart towards the brute completely different to how she usually acted. In her view, it was better to walk around unnoticed, to be an unseen face in the crowd than to stand up and have everybody take notice. That could lead to questions about her, which could then lead to questions about her past. She knew her ancestry would not be taken graciously by the Cursed alliance - after all dual heritage was not a thing to be proud of. That was why she spent so much time alone, wandering these plains that she had come to know almost every inch of. She preferred it when there was nobody round to interrupt her, when it was just her all alone in the barren surroundings of the plains. She had many strange things here, when horses had come here, thinking nobody was around to see them. She was like a ghost, drifting here and there in search of something to do. She knew of secret affairs and love traingles between equines, and plans of war and murder were not uncommon. She liked her life as it was. Simple. Peaceful. Alone.
Yet there was something about Balthazar that.... well, not attracted her, although he was fine looking brujo to say the least. No, more intrigued than attracted. She found his sudden mood swings and apparent loss of memory quite interesting, and she didn't want to leave him. He was the sort of stallion she could see herself living with, and although his temper was like that of a young coltines, Agana thought she knew how to handle it. Her thoughts trailed off as Balthazar tore away from her like the devil himself was on his tail. Just as soon as she had begun to wonder what he had done, the brute spoke. It was a childs voice, not his own, and it scared her slightly to hear it. It was unnerving, such an immature voice coming from a well-built stallion like him. She didn't have a clue what to say as he scolded himself, she merely stayed stock still and wondered whether he was going to stay like this for long. Yet as soon as his outburst had started, it had gone, and he was left as vulnerable as she, the misery plain in his orbs. She had only parted her lips for a moment before a long rumble from the horizon drowned her out. She looked quickly to the sky, only to see a writhing mass of black storm clouds hovering over them, twisting and snarling angrily. She had not noticed as the sky became steadily darker, and it seemes the storm had ambushed them before they had time to get to shelter. Lightning crackled in the sky, flash after flash, and although there was yet no rain to speak of, Agana could see that this was quickly becoming dangerous, and she knew that they had to seek shelter immediately.
"Come on. We need to get away from this - now."
She spoke loudly, to ensure that her words could be heard over the rumbles of thunder that were becoming ever more frequent. She pushed herself into a rapid trot, dust rising into the air with every step of her hoof on the dry ground. She stopped for a moment to check whether Balthazar was following her, then, seeing that he was, turned to face the oncoming storm again, hoping to find a small hollow in the desolate land in which they could shelter. She could feel strands of her mane start to stand up as the storm grew overhead, and as a huge flash of lightning bolted down from the sky Agana squealed loudly in surprise and bolted, her pillars carrying her as far away from the strike as possible. She only stopped when her breath was sobbing in her throat and she felt like she couldn't run any longer. Suddenly the acrid stench of smoke filled her nostrils, and she looked backwards in alarm to see Balthazar standing in the middle of a fire, obviously ingited by the strike that had scared her so. He seemed not to notice the flames as they danced around him, gradualy starting to block out his escape route. Mind whirling, the mare wondered what the hell to do. Her instincts were raging, telling her to run and leave Balthazar, but somehow she stopped herself from obeying them and headed toward the stag, pillars clattering over the ground as she did so. It seemed she was not the selfish bitch most thought her to be after all. [.x.]
Arabian - September 14, 2007 10:50 PM (GMT)
Who really was Balthazar? To be honest, he can't be clearly explained. There is the aura about him of confidence, yet it doesn't show. He is usually silent, to himself, barely acknowledging any creature, none the less his own kind. He was never liked, bullied for sure. Being quite the oddball, this was always known, yet even though he had filled out from his scrawny coltine fur and become the handsome stallion he is today, the influences on past deeds remain forever. Neither was he the stereotypical dark stallion, pure evil, demented and or phsychotic. Perhaps he was close to insanity, but shall I let you in on a little secret? This stallion, the one who calls himself Balthazar, is all a game. This stallion, whom portrays himself as near insanity is all a disguise. Why? Simply because. He does not feel the need to show what he truly is, for that would be courageous, a full blown idol to all those whom surrounds him. He would be great, a saver of souls, yet he hides behind his safety sheild. One that keeps him from having to deal with his true persona, one that has been shunned by his kind for years. Being in his right mind, he is always a step ahead of the game, he knows of what is to come simply by his knowledge of the world.
It is enough to say that he is of no alliance when in the correct mindset. He does not fit into the standards set by the ancient ones, he is simply a mixture, a sould among them all. He can be sincere and kind, or vicious and threatening. Yet he may remain in between lost and confused. He portrays the symbol of darkness so that none will question his strange mood and question him about it. For those who call themselves darks do not ask this type of question, they simply, do not care. Agana thought him strange, yes, that was obvious, but she did not judge him as different. She left him to be in his own mindset, and really, that was all he asked for. He did not want sympathy, he was not in danger of his health, it was all a part of the disguise, and it was a disguise not meant to be changed. He was meant to live in this path of life, not choosen by someone else, but by himself. It was his life decision and nothing more. He desired for all life to be someone unique, someone different, someone... to be remembered. Thus far, he was none of those things but the foppish stallion with no brains. Perhaps the time will come soon for the wrong be to changed to the right... or it could stay hidden in the want forever.
Balthazar set distant eyes heavenward, inspecting its ever darkening hues. The clouds were growing thicker rapidly and threatening severe rain. He liked thunderstorms, they showed power, something he contained, but let the thunder give off his powerful soul in the way of shattering the earth's silence. Something he was determined to do in the near future. It seemed nothing had happened, he had said nothing, had done no moving from the place he had firmly stood himself upon. He gazed, mesmorized at the sky, his mind blank of nothing but the interest of the swirling clouds. Dangerous? Oh yes. Suddenly he smiled at this. He loved danger, it meant adventure, it meant that he could portay himself as the true Balthazar, not the stupid fellow he always was. Her words parted his blank mind, but he did not acknowledge a word she spoke, nor did he seem to see her turn and leave him. But of course, he saw this, and mentally acknowledged it, but as the dust from her wake swirled and the thunder crackled even nearer and more dangerous than before, he was stationery.
Smoke began to fill the air and it was only then that it reached his eyes and nares and he awoke from his foppish mindset. Suddenly, he was the brave, the noble, the handsome Balthazar, full of courage and determination, and it showed. His eyes were alive and he was quite the sight as the flames encased him in a circle, blocking all means of escape from his path. His eyes searched through the flames, searching for Agana, determined to know that she was safe and that the flames had not put her in danger. There, he saw her frame, coming back towards him? 'She is quite the odd thing.' Perhaps that was why he liked her so much. All at once his focus was back upon his delimma, he focused upon the flames, watching them as they grew higher and higher, blocking all his means of escape. He whirled, they higher behind him! He spun around haphazardly, searching frantically for a way out. He could not longer see Agana and gave a shril cry. Not of distress, but worry for her. At the moment the only thing he could think of was to get her away from the fire, nevermined what became of him, she was all that mattered.
All at once, he moved no more. He stood squarely, orbs narrowed as he stared straight at the taunting flames ahead of him. He was backed almost touching the flames behind him, but as the scent of scorched hair reached his nares, he gave a small rear and plunged forward, his lithe muscles buldging from his hindquarters as he galloped forward, closer to the flames in front of him. Suddenly, the flames were upon him and he stretched his long pillars forward. He felt the flames licking his body and the burns that would scorch him once out of the fire. Halfway through the flames in his jeap of faith, he caught sight of Agan directly before him. His will increased and he willed himself to keep soaring through the air. He landed with a jolt upon the ground, his knees buckling and he was sent violently earthbound. He rolled, tucking his apendages in beneath him to save them from damage, and then he was up, and galloping towards Agana and further and further away from the flames.
[.x.] Freedom - October 24, 2007 04:16 PM (GMT)
The black smoke stung Agana’s eyes as she neared the flames, but she forced them to stay open, searching through the billowing clouds for the one named Balthazar. She thought she caught a glimpse of him through the blaze, a cold shadow silhouetted against the dancing ribbons of fire, but it could just as easily as been her imagination. The heat prickled against her skin as she stood, and although the thunder crackled savagely overhead, she paid it no attention, for all she cared about at the moment was him. Agana’s past had not left her undamaged. She attached herself to any equine that showed her any kind of affection, or even mere civility, and although Balthazar’s behaviour hardly even merited the title of the latter, the feminine found herself inexplicably drawn to him. The dust swirled around her elegant hocks as she shifted from side to side; craning her neck, desperate for some sign that the stag was alright. A bitter taste crept into her mouth and nares as she carried on breathing in more of the toxic air, her auds ringing with the roar of the flames and the crash of the thunder overhead. Another bolt of lightning shot down from the sky and suddenly she found herself encircled by the inferno, the flames creeping in closer on all sides. Her eyes rolled in fear, and as she attempted a clumsy leap away from the fire she stumbled, crashing down onto the ground with a force that knocked the breath out of her lungs. She lay there for a moment, stunned by the speed at which she had met the ground, but finally clambered to her feet to face the storm once more.
Agana was not the stereotypical Dark mare you would expect her to be. Some might consider her attractive, beautiful even, but that wasn’t something that she liked to think about. She could be cruel, and possessed many of the traits expected of an equine with the cursed blood of the Darks, but she could also be a sensitive, sweet femme when the mood took her. Perhaps that was why she kept to herself so much, choosing to wander the barren plains and keep to herself. Company was not something she usually expected, or even desired, and most of the equines who attempted to approach her were made to feel obviously unwelcome. Balthazar seemed different to her, strange even. Like her, he didn’t seem to know what was going to happen in his life, he just greeted each passing day with the attention it deserved, and nothing more. The tedious task of finding a stallion, bearing a foal, raising it, and then finally passing from this world did not appeal to her at all, and she doubted it did to Balthazar either. She could tell that something had happened to him, something terrible, which had made him shelter behind this veil of apparent insanity. It was perfectly obvious in her eyes that he was not as strange as he liked to make out, and he was not all that stupid. He shifted from persona to persona, simply choosing one which fitted the mood he was in. What it would take for him to finally show his true self was unknown to Agana, yet that was not going to stop her wondering.
The femme panicked, dashing from one end of the circle to another in a frantic attempt to free herself as the wall of flames climbed higher and higher into the sky. In her desperation she let out a shrill cry which was lost in a ferocious rumble of thunder that seemed to make the very earth shake with its power. Her mouth was dry from fear, and as the heat became ever more intense upon her pelt she knew that she had to get out quickly. There was a small section of flame which was not as well established as the others, yet still Agana hesitated, finding her legs frozen to the spot in fear. Suddenly a cry sounded over the plains, one that she could distantly recall as that of Balthazar. It was this that finally made her jump. Suddenly she found herself plunging through the flames, and out to relative safety, the air biting against her skin. Balthazar was a distance away from her, so, intensely relieved that he was safe, the femme concentrated on galloping away from the flames, and towards the stallion she was becoming ever more attached to.