Flagellation Introspective,

Caprica D'Angelo · 11-22-2011, 08:06 AM

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WC:500+ (EDIT: SORRY ADMINS :[ I'm really stupid with account linking.) Dramallamacaprica.

She howled, low and heartbreaking, into the wind of her running. She was broiling alive in a terrible, terrible guilt, suffused with the agony of it. She knew she was beyond consolation, and had fled from the packlands, leaving at least fifteen strenuously dug holes empty of their fenceposts: leaving her little brothers, her bigger sister, her solitary mother. The whisper that had grown to a roar of blood panic in her ears had begun weeks before, but she had put off the moment of realisation. She had wanted to live in the fantasy world that everything had worked as she intended, her scheming having brought only good tidings, and the easy coincidence that her passage in the Anatheman tunnels went unimpeded by encounters stirring inappropriate emotions. Now, this world was over, finished. She bore a guilt that would not recede.

It wasn't the fault of the Wiccan. It was her own fault for not being utterly honest and revealing the entire intention behind her charm. Not even the magic was to blame. Only Caprica, for this was what she must have asked for, without meaning to, but without guarding against it either. She felt she was only just aware of her own power to change the world around her, and she had already abused this gift. Of course, it was possible that it was still just a brief leave of absence and she had not spoken to anyone about the missing male, but she just felt she knew deep down that he was gone. Gone because of her.

Irrational, perhaps, but she could not live with herself any longer. What would her mother do if she knew? Any of her packmates? What Caprica had done was unforgivable. She had robbed them. She had robbed herself, too, and now she wailed again to think of her selfishness. Until now, she'd been able to rely on herself. She'd lived through the worst nightmare closing around her, and her mind had protected her from even that, until she couldn't even remember it. She'd lost everyone familiar, and she'd survived alone. Now, it was her own doing that caused torment, and there was nowhere left to retreat. She needed help now, and so she ran, four-legged and ponderous with grief and exhaustion through mile upon mile of forest and clearing. She did not remember the way, so she just kept the dying sun ahead of her and as the day drew near to its close, finally emerged onto open hills. Here the view stirred long-ago memories, and she turned towards the sea, following a path that she could only just recall. When the setting sun glinted on a distant lake, she knew she had the right place, and then she stumbled into the border and gave a choking gasp of relief. Now what? Before, she had been led - paraded so proudly over these borders, every last sibling in tow. Now the one who had led her was a mystery, and she could not enter alone. Caprica slumped to her haunches, then shifted, ending on her knees. In this form she could bury her distraught face in her hands, so she did, and sobbing, crumpled into a ball, shutting out the cruel outside world that was no crueller than she.

Image courtesy of Ant Jackson@Flickr; Table by the Mentors!

Ehno Marino · 11-29-2011, 11:54 PM

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Sorry for my delay here. Unexpectedly busy with school and the holiday. :[ wc: 322

Some nights, Ehno preferred the simple joy of sitting by the lakeside as the sun abandoned the skies to make way for night. He enjoyed the quiet of the transitioning evening, the colors the sky was painted with and its reflection on the still waters. He had become especially fond of spending his evenings there once the Dreamers’ struggles with AniWaya had come to an end. A simple way to remind himself that the world was at peace again. Tonight the sun was beginning the last few paces of its descent when the Italian felt content enough to return to the warm and crowded confines of the manor. He paused as he began to make his way back home, wondering if he had heard something in the distance. Amber eyes searched the horizon out where the Dreamers’ borders lie, but he was almost sure that it had been his imagination until the winds saw fit to bring the faint wisps of a scent to him.

It was a scent he recognized—Anathema—but mixed within it was another scent, one not encountered for what felt like ages. His daughter. Caprica. Without hesitation, he made his way after the scent on the wind, golden gaze eyeing the horizon with an eagerness seldom shown. One by one his girls seemed to be returning to him, their mere presence letting him know that they were okay, that they had survived what trials life saw fit to throw their way. But as he approached the form out near the borders he realized that no, everything was not alright. His midnight-pelted girl was clearly in distress and his protective instincts immediately kicked into gear. The Marino picked up his pace, hurrying over to where she sat shaking with sobs. He dropped to his knees beside her, hands reaching out to offer what comfort they could. “Caprica, cara mia, what is wrong?” Concern weighed down his words, matching the mask of worry that had slipped over his features.

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Caprica D'Angelo · 11-30-2011, 09:25 PM

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WC:300+ It's totally fine! And aww... I love Ehno he's so nice.

Caprica, too, usually enjoyed a peaceful evening watching the sun set. The skies were full of inspiration, colours for beads or patterns for dyed pieces of fabric. Tonight, all she could see were the shadows, getting longer and longer and greyer until they perfectly matched the barren and lifeless world she found herself engulfed by. She was relieved, almost, to shut her eyes to it all, but she could not close her nose - here on the borders where the Clouded Tears scent was as familiar but as distant as her first word or step. Caprica couldn't close her ears, either, but this was for the best, as the first thing that broke her broken-hearted reverie was the more comforting sound she could have heard. Her own father, first a beloved playmate and all-powerful protector, then a forgotten part of a confusing and obliterated history, then yearned for as a half-remembered and idolised figure, recalled in the presence of her sister, who too had sought him recently. Where, given that circumstance, else would she have turned? His words were startling, the emotions flooding her turned bittersweet, a dish seasoned by far too many cooks, some rubbing in the bitter salt of pain and loss, the sickening grease of guilt: others the syrups and spices of the reunion and the creamy delight of hearing words in the language she'd almost forgotten she knew. Almost, but never quite. "Papà, il mio papà," choked Caprica, and flung herself into his arms, hands still hiding her face - not daring to show such a guilty and pain-racked facade to the world: especially not the part of it that she most dearly wished to impress. "Non volevo farlo, I didn't, I didn't." But she must have, mustn't she - some dark part of her must have: and that was a blackness that she was not ready to contemplate. She had never felt so cursed: if Tak had wanted her now, he could have taken her, and with ease.

Image courtesy of Ant Jackson@Flickr; Table by the Mentors!

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