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Entry tags:
Open Log ➵
WHO: Hayame and YOU(?!)
WHAT: centaur cryptid action, the angriest breeding season ever, archery, a local lurker probably yelling at kids to get off her misty lawn and stop trying to care about her
WHERE: Lohkimareen [Greentruth heights, misty depths, and forest's edge]
WHEN: Beginning of Visoseri (June)
WARNINGS: potential suicidal ideation, mentions of csa, violence, estrus
01 ➵ IN MISTS [FORESTS BELOW GREENTRUTH]➵ 霧の靡に
[The Aions have been provided lodging among the tall, fortified trees of Greentruth... But one potential member of the Pleroma group has not made use of them a single night. In fact, for the more observant types... the centaur who had been among their number that first night through the portal from Godsblood, who had hung around the edges of the welcome banquet silent, brooding, and angrily eavesdropping... has barely been seen since.
There are whispers, though, the occasional bit of gossip amongst the natives. A man who often works one of the freight elevators that transports supplies up from caravans on the forest floor who complains about an occasional extra load who doesn't even tip. Merchants who talk about being watched by a strange monster or spirit in the mist, shaped like some unnatural combination of mount and man. An armorer who laments that as much as they ought to aid the Aions in their mist, there is just this one who keeps taking shortbows- what is she doing to them?
And if someone were to actually seek out that woman... The search will take them to the dangerous mists below the safety of the Greentruth trees, where shadows play across the mist and large beasts roam. But amongst the tracks left behind by reptiles are faint imprints of hoof, there is a hollow tree that seems to have been made into some sort of crude shelter, game hanging to dry high off the ground and half-prepared pelts stretched out over makeshift racks, and when you turn around-
There might be an arrowhead embedded in a tree near your face, the arrow shaft quivering with the force that has punctured the bark.]
02 ➵ FLETCHER [GREENTRUTH, NEAR GODSBLOOD PORTAL]➵ 矢作り
[There is a downside to the intense aversion Hayame feels to using her shard for so-called "communion". Mainly... she has refused the easy way to know where people are across the planet. To her it is normal, coming as she did from a world in the year 1590 where the most advanced technology consisted of woodblock printing, looms, and matchlock rifles, but...
It means she does a lot of waiting in exchange for trying to keep people out of her head, where she has so much less control than she would like people to think. Risk emotion bleed with inexperience into a conversation that, if held in person, she'd at least be able to control? She does not fancy it.
And in waiting for the man she has commissioned a bow from to appear from Godsblood... she stands (glowers) near the portal from the coastal town, hands crossed beneath her tightly bound breasts. After a few hours... she begins to resent herself for the wasted time, and right there, her large body taking up a decent amount of space near the portal...
She just commandeers a table and starts to work, pulling a feathered kill from its place hanging at her harness and beginning to pluck feathers off it right there, squinting at each one and beginning to cut them into arrow fletching. Sorry, did you need to get past her? Wondering why she's still standing there?
She isn't volunteering. She's working.]
03 ➵ NATURAL DESIRE [RIVER NEAR GREENTRUTH]➵ 発情期
[Hayame has always resented the fact that she was born a woman.
From the moment she had been old enough to watch the empty shell of an Armless woman that was her dam be led to the mounting post each year and understand why, she had known what women were best suited for in a breeding stable. Even as she trained herself in bow and polearm and blade, threw her entire effort into making herself a warrior who would be bought by a warlord to bring him victories in battle, the possibility of being sold as a broodmare or "companion" mount had always been a possibility. Always.
And nothing was a better reminder of the femininity she strove to cover with bindings, strength, and harshness than a jinba mare's heats. The urges frustrate her as they always do, turn normal scents in the air to tempting aromas, make her body into a traitor willing to lift her tail with interest at the sight of potential mates, and force her to burn with desire that anyone with a proper nose or eye would notice.
Which is what has led Hayame to the cold mountain river she is now immersed in up to her lower shoulders, letting the water wash away proof of her want and cool her body. Thinking herself alone... she allows herself the luxury of a moment of weakness, letting down her fetlock-length ebony hair and trying to work her fingers through the tangled strands that have grown difficult to handle without her master's women to provide oils and comb.
The sounds of the water, unfortunately, mean that she is somewhat unprepared for visitors. Her bow and knife, however... are still within reach.]
04 ↣ WILDCARD ↣ 鬼札
[Hit my plotting comment/send a PM/hit me up on![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
stormcoming if you'd prefer a starter or want to discuss a specific thread you'd like to do!]
WHAT: centaur cryptid action, the angriest breeding season ever, archery, a local lurker probably yelling at kids to get off her misty lawn and stop trying to care about her
WHERE: Lohkimareen [Greentruth heights, misty depths, and forest's edge]
WHEN: Beginning of Visoseri (June)
WARNINGS: potential suicidal ideation, mentions of csa, violence, estrus
01 ➵ IN MISTS [FORESTS BELOW GREENTRUTH]➵ 霧の靡に
[The Aions have been provided lodging among the tall, fortified trees of Greentruth... But one potential member of the Pleroma group has not made use of them a single night. In fact, for the more observant types... the centaur who had been among their number that first night through the portal from Godsblood, who had hung around the edges of the welcome banquet silent, brooding, and angrily eavesdropping... has barely been seen since.
There are whispers, though, the occasional bit of gossip amongst the natives. A man who often works one of the freight elevators that transports supplies up from caravans on the forest floor who complains about an occasional extra load who doesn't even tip. Merchants who talk about being watched by a strange monster or spirit in the mist, shaped like some unnatural combination of mount and man. An armorer who laments that as much as they ought to aid the Aions in their mist, there is just this one who keeps taking shortbows- what is she doing to them?
And if someone were to actually seek out that woman... The search will take them to the dangerous mists below the safety of the Greentruth trees, where shadows play across the mist and large beasts roam. But amongst the tracks left behind by reptiles are faint imprints of hoof, there is a hollow tree that seems to have been made into some sort of crude shelter, game hanging to dry high off the ground and half-prepared pelts stretched out over makeshift racks, and when you turn around-
There might be an arrowhead embedded in a tree near your face, the arrow shaft quivering with the force that has punctured the bark.]
02 ➵ FLETCHER [GREENTRUTH, NEAR GODSBLOOD PORTAL]➵ 矢作り
[There is a downside to the intense aversion Hayame feels to using her shard for so-called "communion". Mainly... she has refused the easy way to know where people are across the planet. To her it is normal, coming as she did from a world in the year 1590 where the most advanced technology consisted of woodblock printing, looms, and matchlock rifles, but...
It means she does a lot of waiting in exchange for trying to keep people out of her head, where she has so much less control than she would like people to think. Risk emotion bleed with inexperience into a conversation that, if held in person, she'd at least be able to control? She does not fancy it.
And in waiting for the man she has commissioned a bow from to appear from Godsblood... she stands (glowers) near the portal from the coastal town, hands crossed beneath her tightly bound breasts. After a few hours... she begins to resent herself for the wasted time, and right there, her large body taking up a decent amount of space near the portal...
She just commandeers a table and starts to work, pulling a feathered kill from its place hanging at her harness and beginning to pluck feathers off it right there, squinting at each one and beginning to cut them into arrow fletching. Sorry, did you need to get past her? Wondering why she's still standing there?
She isn't volunteering. She's working.]
03 ➵ NATURAL DESIRE [RIVER NEAR GREENTRUTH]➵ 発情期
[Hayame has always resented the fact that she was born a woman.
From the moment she had been old enough to watch the empty shell of an Armless woman that was her dam be led to the mounting post each year and understand why, she had known what women were best suited for in a breeding stable. Even as she trained herself in bow and polearm and blade, threw her entire effort into making herself a warrior who would be bought by a warlord to bring him victories in battle, the possibility of being sold as a broodmare or "companion" mount had always been a possibility. Always.
And nothing was a better reminder of the femininity she strove to cover with bindings, strength, and harshness than a jinba mare's heats. The urges frustrate her as they always do, turn normal scents in the air to tempting aromas, make her body into a traitor willing to lift her tail with interest at the sight of potential mates, and force her to burn with desire that anyone with a proper nose or eye would notice.
Which is what has led Hayame to the cold mountain river she is now immersed in up to her lower shoulders, letting the water wash away proof of her want and cool her body. Thinking herself alone... she allows herself the luxury of a moment of weakness, letting down her fetlock-length ebony hair and trying to work her fingers through the tangled strands that have grown difficult to handle without her master's women to provide oils and comb.
The sounds of the water, unfortunately, mean that she is somewhat unprepared for visitors. Her bow and knife, however... are still within reach.]
04 ↣ WILDCARD ↣ 鬼札
[Hit my plotting comment/send a PM/hit me up on
no subject
[She has always been able to solve things with her bow, that was the only thing that had ever been desired of her. To be an instrument of war, to aim at the targets of her masters, but here there is no master and there are not even clear targets. Who? Who should she kill to solve this?]
I can find enemies aplenty in this place! I will kill each and every one of the Kenoma who took Estinien apart. I will kill every one who slighted me in Venera and took advantage of my weakness. I will kill the Pleroma who disrespect me-
[If she sounds confident... Perhaps it is just the desperation, perhaps it truly is confidence in her natural strength and abilities, even in a world where people had foul magics at their disposal.]
And then- Then, we will all come back from the dead and do it all over again!
[Perhaps when her voice cracks again on that phrase it will illustrate the root of the insecurities, the current fears that had driven her to the state he sees now.
Estinien had told her. She had been so sure of her path, that she would die in battle here or kill herself if she could not return home and yet even that... Even that would be denied her. The shard in her chest would bring her back to life. She'd tried to break it herself, tried to dash it to the ground, and the mere attempt had made her so sick she'd vomited. So what is she afraid of- ?
She's afraid of never being able to give up her life that she had promised to Matsukaze and that village of orphans.
She's afraid of living. Afraid of something she'd never been given the freedom to hope for or even imagine... let alone trying to do it here, in a world without the only two people she might have trusted to help her do it.]
no subject
it clicks something into place for him to see it, hear it - some hint at the root of her agony, her despair; yes... Hayame undoubtedly has something she wishes to return to. whether it is family, friends, who will welcome her back with open arms-- or an obligation, duty, or mission that she feels calls her name and gives her purpose... to be without it is a cruelty. but to be without the hope she could ever return to it...? that she would live a life unending, knowing the eternal walk of time never growing closer to what she yearns for?
...
he's grown closer, now. does not care to stop, and doesn't seem concerned she will genuinely shoot him with the bow that faintly trembles for the tightness of her grip upon it. no... it isn't that he doesn't fear that she will fire out of some misguided confidence in her disposition; it is that he doesn't care if he does. ]
...So, come with me.
[ his voice is gentle, kind. but it carries a note of firmness behind it - something that is more of a confident command than a request, like a parent telling their wayward child to return home after having spent the night outside alone, shivering and unwell, since 'running away.' it isn't angry; it isn't even disappointment, and it carries no judgment. ]
You already know this, right...? That death is not the escape you're looking for. Starving in the wilderness, allowing yourself to slowly wither-- it will bring you no closer to where you need to be. [ and you deserve better than this. ]
I can't promise it will come easy, and I can't promise you the answers will come anytime soon-- but you have something to get back to. I know you do. So... come with me and fight for it.
[ he stretches a hand, both impassioned plea and the fervent light of that resolve, firm and unyielding, in his eyes. ]
Or can you truly tell me your wish is worth dying for, but it isn't worth living for?
1/2
She gives him every reason to leave her be, and still he persists. Still, he speaks to her in a voice like she has heard once before, with words like the ones he had used, and for a moment... For a moment, she almost hears the roar of a waterfall deafening her. Almost feels that same crippling shame that she had felt that day, hauled up from her attempt to kill herself and the strongest enemy in her vicinity, as if she'd merely slipped into the water and needed saving rather than throwing herself at the rocks below in the hopes that the ropes binding them to keep her from running might become her captor's noose.
Almost sees how calm and quiet Matsukaze has looked inspecting his rope burned palms as she screamed and railed against the shame he had heaped upon her in failing to allow her even death. How penetrating and sure his voice had been when he asked, don't you want to live in a world where it's alright to feel relieved to be saved?
The man holds out his hand to her.
Hers twitches. For just half a second, it seems like she might actually be thinking... What if this was a world like that? She was the only one of her kind, and though that came with a crushing loneliness and constant threat of misunderstanding... It still hasn't sunk in that it also came with a certain freedom from the chains both real and metaphorical that had bound her and her race. What if here, even if she had to fight-
But that would require trusting this man. It would require putting faith in the Pleroma, in the rebels of Greentruth, in the aion Tehri. It would require hoping.]
no subject
The waver in her expression hardens into a sudden snap of rage as she reminds herself to crush her weakness under hoof, and her bow lashes out- not to notch an arrow and fire, not this close, but to slap his hand away from her, hard enough to snap a wrist or break a finger if he wasn't careful. Something she would never do with a proper bow, but with this weak one already breaking-]
My wish is dying.
[She will crack it on the offer he has the gall to hold out to her, when he knows, should know nothing- nothing about her and what she wanted. Let him know, then, even though she doesn't provide nearly enough context for the snarl that escapes, baring her sharp fangs as she throws yet one more reason to leave her in his face.]
I swore I would bring the flame and light the gunpowder- I am supposed to die on that battlefield with him, and instead I am here listening to some fool who does not even know my name try to offer me something that won't do a damn thing to cleanse my dishonor!
[He wants to get close? She lunges, more like a dog that barks and growls than a woman who was half-horse, snapping her teeth at him from inches away. Even if it would get her compared to a beast, she could sink her teeth into his throat and rip, something even an Armless could do-]
Leave, before I make you regret your senseless pity!
[Nevermind that he had sounded honest. Nevermind that for half a shameful instance... She had almost maybe believed him.]
no subject
it was to both.
she had vowed herself to join someone - 'him,' someone she had promised her very life to - and to their shared cause. Abel doesn't understand the 'why,' but in this moment... that detail isn't important. it is just enough context that he can piece together another bit of Hayame's puzzle, and that's all he needs. whether she likes it or not, Horos and its plight is her problem. no amount of snarling and bristling will return her to the man waiting for her nor the battle awaiting its martyrs to play their part.
he will collect each piece with time 'til he's made a whole. he is patient, even if she isn't.
the harsh, painful batting of his hand earns a minute tightening of his jaw, but he doesn't so much as step back or away as she bridges the distance between them like a looming, lunging bear snapping in discontent. Abel doesn't see an angry, violent woman on the brink of an outburst; no... his eyes are still caught on the sight that had preceded this: one of a woman looking into him, through him, and seeing something else. someone else.
he knows that look. and he knows that what he said... it resonated somewhere with her, even if she isn't yet ready to take the hand extended her way. ]
...I'm sorry.
[ pity, she says...
for her impassioned snarling, Abel's voice remains calm and even; it is easy to mistake compassion for piteous sympathy, and there was a time when he was just as guilty of bristling at either as well. maybe it is part of the reason he stands his ground, now. ]
...If you've vowed your life to him, then... what are you doing? If protecting those here means nothing to you, then so be it. But the least you can do is protect and care for yourself so that there's something of you left to get back to when you see him again.
What do you think he'd say if you returned to him this way...?
no subject
[She mocks him with the words that she finds worthless, meaningless, when they come from someone who she does not know and prescribes not to care to know. Throws them back at him as if to dare him to tell her why that does a damn thing for her or for anyone, why she shouldn't just leave right now.
The problem with biting, with lunging, with escalating as quickly as Hayame was known to, however... Is that it leaves very little room for retreating with any dignity. Not that there was any dignity in retreating, the coward's choice to a woman raised on the harsh, black and white lines of a warrior's honor. She bets constantly on winning or dying, even in her arguments and petty clashes, too quick to throw everything out...
So what is left to her but to either beat him like a dog, as she had before, or seem to admit that he is right by leaving with her tail between her legs? As much as she wants to run from him and his words that for half a second had almost seemed well-meaning and nearly trustworthy...]
Don't you dare speak to me of what Matsukaze would say.
[She knows it's gone on too long. She's shown too much. She's let herself be goaded into saying more than she should have, and yet... She cannot excuse that insult, that audacity, snarling her warning with a pointed end of her bow jabbed up and dangerously near the fool's face, not even wanting to touch him, or anyone, with her hands as if she was some common beast that did not know the tools of the civilized.]
You do not know him. You do not know me.
[And if she never made it back? If she never got to tell him that she wished- That she wished if she had ever known a man-]
Or must I beat you again like a dog to make that sense reach your brain?
no subject
[ there is a pleading edge in his voice, in his eyes as he beseeches her. despite the barely restrained violence and the asperity, all Abel can see with each escalation, each protest she thrusts his way, is how very wounded she is. it's like a gaping wound being exposed to the air and he could not be more aware of its existence, can't avert his gaze from it now he's been made aware it's there.
...he implores her. earnestly. it is all he can do; he cannot force her into this - but for her to remain like this is a miserable fate he wouldn't wish on anyone. he cannot leave her this way. ]
Please. If I don't know, then... tell me. I want to understand, alright...? I'll listen to anything you have to say, listen to anything you say at all. All you have to do, is... sit with me, and try.
no subject
His words make it sound so easy. All she had to do is tell him. Tell him what it was that had lodged those first shards of hatred and despair into her hearts under the guise of pride and honor, and just keep telling him of every single occasion where those shards had been driven deeper, so deep that at one point she’d even been able to fool herself into thinking she wasn’t hemorrhaging at each breath.
And now… Anyone who looks at her can see them. Perhaps it was her change to pluck them out… but instead, she just resorts to what she knows. Trying to hide them. Shove them back in.]
Tell you. Tell everyone about myself to a man who does not even know my name?
[There are so many things she could say, there, and her name is what comes out. She hasn’t heard-
She hasn’t heard someone call her name in so long.]
Do not make me laugh.
[Yet her expression of rage and fear, confusion and defensive bravado, are anything but near laughter, even for a forced joke. As much as she hates to turn her back, to look the coward and retreat… this fool is stubborn, and if she killed him…
Of course. If she killed him, those “Pleroma” would come bother her even worse.]
If you are not gone from my territory by the time I return from my hunt, I will shoot you in the leg.