[aw] your bark will wear thin

Salvia Eternity · 09-14-2012, 09:10 AM

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Setting	Location	Form	NPCs
Location: The Stables, SL Date: 14 September Weather: Clear, cool Time: Afternoon			Eyre (communal horse)

(301)

Heavy hooves slammed into the stony ground, kicking up broken bits of black-brown earth. The silvery mare whinnied and fought against the weight on her back. Salvia, feet planted firmly in the saddle and legs holding her still, rocked forward with the motion. Her hair was loose and wild, a cloud of bleached-out gold rushing forth and tangling with each motion. Both of her hands were holding the leather thongs that served as reins, though they were currently untied to give her more control.

Of course, even someone without experience among horses could see she was fighting. Her mount was the newest acquisition from Freetown and (as she had been warned then) a bad-tempered thing. Unfortunately, this proved to be highly accurate. The damn thing had tried to bite her when she saddled her, and things had gone downhill from there. The training ring served her purpose well enough, but Salvia had been surprised by just how easily turned fierce the horse was. One of her heels had brushed against the mare’s side and set off this series of bucks.

The tiger would not be moved. She pulled hard on one side of the reins, forcing the mare to wheel, not giving her an inch. Their struggle had been going on for the better half of an hour, and hardly looked close to compromise. Almost as soon as she slackened her arm the horse had begun to back up, head tossing and eyes rolling. Salvia squeezed her thighs and was rewarded with another half-buck. Frustrated, she twisted the reins in the other direction and gave another firm nudge. Unable to use her head the horse wheeled, kicking up more of the soft earth. Atop her, Salvia leaned into the motion and rode it out. She would break. They would all break.

Harrow D'Angelo · 09-14-2012, 10:14 AM

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totally stealing this! I'm under the assumption that they didn't see each other since the attack that killed Larkspur, so just poke me if otherwise.

Harrow took to exploring the lands again on her own that day. The lynx told her, with the feline purr that never seemed to fade away despite her growing vocabulary, that she wanted to hunt, to eat and to re-familiarize herself with the territory she was raised in once more. Omitl added she would not be long, and warned the girl simply to stay out of trouble. "We are new here. Don't impose others." Omi knew the dark creature was famous for that when they were wanderers and when in that pack, but Harrow did not argue for once, knowing that she wouldn't. She only gave a slight nod, and the she-cat accepted that as an answer, and stalked off.

It was immediately decided she would not remain in the Ruins. It was dull and boring, and saw no need to sit around and waste the day. The sky was still soft when she left, but by the time she walked at a lazy pace to the center of the territory, it grew a vibrant blue. Time mattered little to her, but made a mental note none the less. She'd rather be in her crumbling stone abode than to caught in the shadows of the night in the open. She imagined the creeping figures, smoky and opaque, reaching from the dark to pull her if she stayed outside for a couple of more hours. She shook her head of the thought, and tried to instill more appropriate, reasonable thoughts. But her mind always crept back the wraiths that haunted the night.

Sounds of struggle disturbed her thoughts, the thundering of hooves, and the girl realized she was near the stables. Uncertainty brewed within her, but a look would not hurt, right? She increased her speed, lavished steps now becoming more hastened, and vivid eyes widened at the sight. A pale woman was straddling a wild creature, both a fierce sight to behold, and she was suddenly against the fence, hands gripping it tightly. Salvia--she knew who this was, the memory of her older sibling being one of the first to return to her. And she knew that once upon a time, she had failed to save her. That day plagued her mind, and now it threatened to take over her attention.

She was not sure if the woman needed help--she was handling herself, but the beast was not making it easy. Still clenching the fence, prepared to clamber over it despite the fear of flailing hooves, she merely peered, watching and waiting, lost for words.

Salvia Eternity · 09-14-2012, 12:36 PM

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(341) I don't think they have either :o Don't mind Salvia, she is rude. And feel free to mention Omitl running into Abendrot (Sal's lynx) if she goes north--he mostly hunts up there :3

In the end, the war had won out. The war was the truth of the world because the war was everything. It was the struggle to survive, to hunt and kill and feast upon the dead. It was the squirrel-cage of self, where reason and logic combated the baser and more complex grounds of sentiment and green-eyed monsters. There was only the war, and for Salvia, this was a greater chain than the dwarf-woven rope that had bound her to Sirius.

So because she was not willing to face the great blackness that grew in her heart, she froze it out. Outwardly thrusting her doubt and her mind’s inability to settle she worked. She trained hard with weapons and without, hunted ferociously, and even worked with the animals in ways she had not before. That was what had dragged her out to the pen and to the silver-gray mare that even now sought to rebel. Salvia accepted none of this. If there was to be war, she would see it through and she would end it. Boreas had left its mark upon her breast, and deeper still, to that icy thing that was her heart.

The horse wheeled, whinnying, and Salvia saw a dark shape near the fenceline. She used this to steer the horse, drive her back, and after an impossibly long wait, the dappled mare stilled under her. It was not surrender in full, but it was enough. Salvia urged her around the ring once, towards the far gate, and there dismounted. Once off the horse, the mare’s demeanor changed—she now fell in line, eager to be free of the saddle and burden of tack. Hair windswept and eyes alight with radiant neon flame, Salvia looked to her sister. She said nothing; it had been a long time since she had seen (or smelt) Harrow, and the spicy-sweet scent of their mother was all over the girl. A faint line was drawn, even now, to be remembered and noted. Even now, war was never far from her thoughts.

Harrow D'Angelo · 09-16-2012, 02:41 PM

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All that echoed through her mind was her failure. She had tried to be the hero once, tried to fly out of the nest of her comfort. Her broken wing served as a reminder that she had lost that battle, and subsequently had lost everything because of her ignorance. Her home. Her family. Even her memories were paid for her foolishness. But, eventually, everything she once had came back to her, but she faced the facts: nothing remained the same forever. Because of that one instance of unwittingness, everything and everyone she knew had changed without her there to witness it. She had failed to see the change, and she had also failed to change, herself.

Again the disgruntled mare reeled under Salvia's grip. But, moments passed, and the horse seemed to finally settle, but on its own accord. Harrow watched distantly as the pale woman slid off the now quiet beast and as she removed the garments from her. But, when sharp eyes turned to her, the girl's own vibrant gaze drifted downward. Out of respect, and out of shame from what happened since they last met. She was told that Sirius was now gone, and that Salvia had risen to power. She would have been pleased to hear her elder sister's accomplishment, if not for Eris. To hear that their mother was usurped by her, she wasn't quite sure how to feel, but all she knew was that she definitely wasn't overjoyed as she may have been for her.

She released her white-knuckled hold on the fence, folding her arms loosely over her chest, and finally looked up, though she stared at the other's muzzle instead of those piercing eyes. "Boss," she greeted quietly. She noted the scar on her bosom, and her brilliant eyes became softer. "You rode that horse pretty well. I was worried for moment there, but now I see that it was not necessary to."

Salvia Eternity · 09-25-2012, 09:47 AM

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(320)

Love had once been a familiar concept to her. Salvia had loved her family long ago, before her Uncle had confirmed all her childhood fears of replacement. In this fear of ostracism she had rebelled and thus grown frigid, unwilling to allow herself the possibility of being harmed. Her father had betrayed her in his death. Sirius had betrayed her in his own flight. Her own mother had long ago become something strange to her, a woman that was but was not somehow greater and lesser than her all at once. If her mother had been wounded, or aged poorly, or even died, it would have been easier. It was easier now to think of Wretch because to Salvia, the girl was no longer her sister. She was a stranger. She was an Outsider.

Harrow too, had slid into this role when she had vanished. Salsola’s teachings were merciless and only Eris had sought to disobey them, forgiving her daughter. Salvia found she could not. There was much about the outside world that settled ill with her. Every single time she had gone looking for something to prove it otherwise, she succumb to base needs. Food, sex, murder—she had stopped separating her need for these in such a monstrous fashion that the truth of it was still very much overlooked.

“I’ve been riding since before you were born,” Salvia informed her sister haughtily, and began to lead the mare to the open stockade. “Father taught me.” She wondered, vaguely, if that might wound the girl. Larkspur had been better prepared for children when her sisters had come around, but he had duties as well, and he was not the same man who had raised Salvia and Pandemic. They had been old enough to transition between children and friend, and thus given more ample time to learn about the man as opposed to knowing him only as provided and disciplinarian.

Harrow D'Angelo · 09-26-2012, 09:20 PM

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She could tell there was a shift in things between her and her family. She could try to fool herself into believing that nothing had changed since her disappearance and return, but the loud scar across her sister's chest was just as much as a reminder as her limp arm was that nothing was the same. There was a change in Savlia in particular, though, the subtle things. The look upon her face, a different kind of sharpness in her cat-eyes. It was a colder flame than the last time they had met.

Ears pressed hard against black tendrils at the mention of Father. How long ago was that fateful day? The number of days, months that he had not walked on this earth suddenly came and overwhelmed her, threatening to choke her into silence or quiet whimpering. The familial love that had seemed to be forgotten, save for Mother, pressed heavily against her chest. She never properly mourned him.

"Father was a good horseman," she stated, quiet. She only allowed self-possession to register on her face, but eyes remained hard on the woman's muzzle, for eyes were windows to the soul, and her soul was now aching. "It does not surprise me you have gleaned his talent." Maybe Harrow would have, too, if things had been different. She loved animals, after all, sometimes even more than her own species. But, whatever small things she did now from him would remain the same forever, until she stepped out and expanded them herself.

"The horse seems difficult never the less," she continued, her gaze now moving to the beast. Things seemed to calm down inside of her as she looked over the mare, and talking about her, avoiding the tension, was better. She entertained the thought of riding her--surely with the thing's temper and her weak arm she would be flung off before she could think about making the first step. "What's her name?"

Salvia Eternity · 09-27-2012, 11:34 AM

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The frost that ringed her heart had sunk deeper into the black pit of her soul. Salvia was a true child of winter—her pale coat was the color of frozen straw, her hair bleached ivory. Only her eyes were of a stranger’s color, but they suited her in ways she did not comprehend. She knew little of her heritage or what it meant, and oh those eyes were not entirely Eris. They were purer, older, binding her to a monster that she did not understand. In her own way, she had surpassed him.

She was as terrible as she was magnificent. Her well muscled body betrayed the lithe ease of a predator, an almost feline quality that reflected in her confidence. Salvia walked as if the world belonged to her, and indeed it did within these borders. The arrogance within her was equally as terrible as the black thing that blossomed under her warped behavior outside of Salsola. She was monstrous.

“Eyre,” Salvia answered, and looped the reins over a post. She spoke as she worked, undoing the strap that held the saddle across the gray mare’s belly. “She is still green,” the blonde woman went on, more comfortable speaking of the horse than she was anything personal. “But it is her bloodline I wanted. I will have time to break her.” It was said with a smug sort of satisfaction, as if believing she was alone in this talent. Few of her Salsolan family had made an effort in the ways of horses, after all.

Harrow D'Angelo · 10-06-2012, 12:06 PM

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Pretty name for a stubborn beast, she absentmindedly thought. She listened as Salvia went on to comment how she will break her. And, for some reason, Harrow felt unsettled by the amount of confidence in her voice. Something ugly sprouted within her--envy.

"I'm sure you will. I would not suspect anything less," the woman said anyway, keeping her gaze downcast while she felt her hands clasped harder around her arms, the motion probably too subtle to be caught. Harrow never felt jealousy for anything, for she got what she wanted, either by her own means or by others giving her what she desired. There was not a case where she was not satisfied with what she had. But, things were different. More tension boiled within her as she thought over Salvia's smug words, and her disquieted mood began to feel jaded.

Harrow lifted her eyes, now meeting the woman's, but they were no longer soft, defenseless. They were vivid and hard, yet they did not speak of the uneasiness that washed over her, and remained to have the air of respectability in some way or other. "Horses can be fickle creatures," she commented. "If you need any help with Eyre or the others, I would be honored for you to accept my help." While it seemed her ability was underrated compared to Salvia's, she wanted it to be known that she was not the only one interested in their father's once-work. Maybe she could find some of her usefulness here; labor was hard, but when it came to animals, it was more worth it.

Salvia Eternity · 10-07-2012, 01:58 PM

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(308) omg Salvia is being a bitch I am sorry

Most people would not have noticed the tightening of muscles under ash colored fur, but Salvia was a true alpha of her breed. She read signs in every motion, in gestures so small that others might overlook them. It was reinforced by her hunting and behavior with the animals. She could ride Nacht bareback and need only think of where to go for him to respond. Tiger would, no doubt, be the same. Salvia saw the motion but did not recognize it for what it was—she had convinced herself that she had never felt envy for these younger children, and chose to live under such delusions.

What she did recognize was the wall that rose to meet her. Harrow had seen some things out in the wilderness. Something had changed her. This pleased Salvia on some deeper level. She needed to see that the soft things her mother had made were worthwhile.

So the request caught her by surprise. Salvia’s ears rose, black-brushed like her shoulders, and she regarded Harrow with a frank appraising eye. Then she let out a high yap, almost coyote like in its sound. Moments later the newest slave came scurrying over, obviously trained to the sound. “Rub this horse down, but first bring me Nacht. Harrow, you will ride Róta. Tack the mare.” The slave hurried off with the horse, and Salvia approached her sister with a strange smile on her face.

“Come ride with me. I am heading north, to the borders.” It was not spoken as a request, but a challenge, a test; the mare Salvia had summoned for her sister was a difficult one. Should she be able to handle it, Salvia might further consider her proposition. She wondered if Harrow recalled the mare’s temperament and found, in a cruel part of her soul, that she hoped she did not.

Harrow D'Angelo · 10-11-2012, 11:11 PM

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Salvia sharp eyes did not miss a single second. Harrow knew she must have caught the movement caused by her emotions; after all, she was attuned to these sort of matters as well, and if roles were reversed she would not have allowed it to go unnoted. It seemed she would have to learn to become stoic on a whim, for she could not allow herself to be this open. It was a form of weakness, and she had been weak for long enough.

Eyes followed her ears as they rose to catch what she had said and watched them with a detached interest. In reality, she was terribly satisfied to surprise her sister. The moment of pride was short lived, stifled by her own hands, as she looked back at the woman with the same distance as the Boss looked her over. Harrow did not allow for her gaze to be moved even as the woman called for a slave, and change only appeared of her face, a slight grimance, when Róta was mentioned. The name was vaguely familiar, but what stirred the girl was the specifics. Why this Róta, and not any other horse? Distrust that would bloom under any circumstance flourished in her, but she only nodded in agreement when it was stated she would ride the mare.

A proposition was suddenly made, and as careful as Harrow was, she did not want to back down, even if the scratching in the back of her mind told her not to. "It has been a while since I rode. It will be refreshing," she stated softly, allowing the smallest of a light tenor to enter her tone. She was certain that she would succeed with whatever trail Salvia had formulated. The details and variables were not clear, but it mattered little to the rash hybrid. She would get what she desired.

Salvia Eternity · 10-13-2012, 10:02 AM

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(502)-excited noises-

There was, without a doubt, a subversive reason for her behavior. Salvia saw fit to push her siblings when she could; she had, shortly before his kidnapping, play-fought with Basilaris so roughly that he had limped for two days. Neither of her parents scolded her for this, nor did her younger brother complain. He was a child raised by strong hands. Certainly, her mother might have spoiled the boy had he remained, and sometimes Salvia wondered if his fate was less cruel out in the world. She wanted to believe him alive, but she was a realist and doubted the Boreas wolves would let that happen. The scar on her breast proved they had no mercy.

Her smile deepened at the mention of Harrow having not ridden recently. Cruelty was not unknown to Salvia, despite her merciful ways of hunting and killing. In a childhood where play was training for survival, games were savage and terrible. Only ruthless beings, like Salvia, would conquer and come to rise above. She was cruel because it enforced her dominance—but she had learned to temper her cruelty with the façade of kindness. It was among the most well-learned lessons Sirius had taught her.

“It might help to reacquaint you with the territory,” Salvia further suggested. You betrayed us, her eyes said. What good was a traitor’s blood? What did it say about her own?

Tarat arrived seconds later, leading both horses. Though Nacht was not saddled, the halter was kept on while he remained in the barn—he was a young horse yet, but a stallion sure enough. Black had already begun trying to shove him around and Nacht was, for the most part, accepting of this. Once his full weight came in, Salvia doubted this would be the case. She took her horse from the slave and left him to deal with Harrow.

With gentle hands Salvia slid off the halter, speaking lowly in German as she did so. The horse had been raised on the language and his finely crafted ears swiveled towards her voice. Salvia had been the dominant leader in his life, and he understood her commands well enough. He remained still as she wove a thick chunk of mane through pale fingers and hoisted herself lightly up onto his back, shifting stance only slightly. Once mounted, Salvia’s body slipped naturally over his black form. They looked suited for each other. She sorely waited the day that Tiger would be able to ride, though she doubted his skinny frame would be as comfortable bareback. Nacht took after his mother in this fashion, and was even better (in Salvia’s opinion) because he was not so wide.

Salvia waited eagerly for Harrow and her body, betraying her, told this to the horse. He snorted and tossed his head, pawed at the ground with one large hoof, and took a tentative step forward. They would be running and while not built for speed, endurance was something the big stallion was more than competent in.

Harrow D'Angelo · 10-17-2012, 08:57 PM

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aw yiss

Sharp eyes flinched, but they did not narrow, as they were shot the clear message of her unspoken treason of leaving the pack. "I know this territory as well as I know my own body," she commented softly. She was, after all, raised and grown on this soil. Not every paw step was known to her like it had been when she was younger, but it would not take long for her to walk each step and be certain of where she was at any place within these borders. "But, it had been a while, no? Time could work its way against us. It can make close memories fade."

But time did not leave its permanent mark on memories concerning Salvia when they returned to their fullest. While she was never wronged by her older sister, it was hard to remember any time that she was sweet without a bitter aftertaste of her harshness. Never was she false with her reasons, but never was she kind with the way she would fulfill them. Harrow both found it personally distasteful and, strangely, she respected it. It was efficient, and the girl appreciated that, she realized.

The slave came promptly, and Harrow turned her critical gaze to the mare. The appearance of Róta stirred something within her, some part that was forgotten and never had the importance to be remembered until now. No hesitation appeared on her face, though, and when the horse was brought near to her, she allowed herself up, not waiting to see if the slave would offer his help or not. It was awkward, the way she pulled herself up with only one arm doing the brunt of the lifting, but somehow she managed without uttering a laborious breath.

She allowed herself to become loose and comfortable, molding herself onto the mare before holding onto the beast with a more firm and proper handling. As she gripped the reins, she could sense something deep within the creature, and slowly she began to recognize it as something, whatever it was, that would hinder her. No, she thought, and a gentle, but strict hand, she tried to turn Róta to face Nacht and her rider, her hold tight since she did not quite not what to expect when she felt so apprehensive.

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