you're my {queen} and I'm your {lionheart} // ghosty

sadniss everdeen
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nyte: date fossils? is that some kind of fetish?

you're my {queen} and I'm your {lionheart} // ghosty Aug 7, 2015 16:08:34 GMT -5

Post by sadniss everdeen on Aug 7, 2015 16:08:34 GMT -5

Xena of Amphipolis

I am steel
and passion
and all the things
you have left behind

She's not sure where she is.

Winter has long given way to summer, the bright circle in the sky warming the foliage, but it is still cooler than the blistering south that saps the moisture from your bones. It must be closer to the Capitol than Xena's been in a long while - she's been following the gleaming North Star for some time. At night, through the thick trees, she can sometimes see the distant gleam of the city when her bed has been made on the side of a mountain.

Would they let her back in?

"Doubtful," she murmurs, letting the gentle sway of Argo's back soothe her. It had been a long trek to District 10 to find the horse, but her sword had soon convinced them to hand him over. Crossing long stretches of meadow and mountain alike was nothing short of exhilerating on his back.

The sun beats hard over her shoulders. Xena stretches, listening to the series of clicks as her spine settles back into place, barely noticeable over the sounds of the forest. The leaves rub against each other in the hiss of a million voices and she hears prayer in language both new and old, swept inwards on the warm summer winds. Memories of the Before, of Greece and gods and ancient lands, dance to life on the backs of the spirits that exist in these hills. But the gale has a bite, a hum of warning, and she clicks her tongue to pick up the pace. Who knows when the gods will decide to open the skies?

A faint sound catches her attention. She draws Argo to a stop with a mere touch, dismounting with a gentle pat to his side. Hidden from the beyond, she slinks through the foliage, metal breastplate glinting. Her leather garb breathes with her - the breath of the animals who gave themselves to clothe her. She thanks them.

Soon, she meets a fence. She can hear the loud hum from the wire and eyes the charred corpse of a squirrel who had fallen from a tree, millions of volts frying the nerves that run through its body. Xena sends a short prayer for its spirit and creeps along the side of the boundary - has she truly gone so far north? How long has she been wandering this place, narrowly escaping the eyes of the Capitol who flit overhead like vengeful angels, their wrath a drone of engines instead the howl of fire falling from the sky.

(She remembers the Burning Times. It was her sword against a god, her body between fates. A mess of light and darkness and stepping over the twisted bodies of her friends.)

To her left comes the clamour of voices. Xena instinctively flinches back into the foliage, hand floating to he sword strapped across her back. They get more distinct the closer she crawls, and through the dense, reaching canopy of the great redwoods that erupt from the earth like pillars holding the sky, she spies a few shadowy forms. Their clothing is worn but not ragged, simple but not filthy. Commoners, but not beggars. Against the trees lay axes, wicked despite their age, handles discoloured from use, much too big for some of figures that stand now just on the other side of the barrier. Children. Teenagers.

Despite the fence, she recognizes their mocking tone. A ripple of unease rushes through her chest and she holds her breath, her calloused hands gripping hard to the trunk of the nearest tree. Its limbs extend out over the fence, a good twelve-foot drop to the ground. Is it really that important?

They laugh, and the sound is harsh like a raven's call. Xena's jaw sets. She was put here to fight for those who can't, and fight she will. But first, she needs a better look.

She climbs.

Last Edit: Aug 7, 2015 16:12:02 GMT -5 by sadniss everdeen

ghosty
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you're my {queen} and I'm your {lionheart} // ghosty Aug 8, 2015 11:56:23 GMT -5

Post by ghosty on Aug 8, 2015 11:56:23 GMT -5

[googlefont="PT Sans Narrow:400"]

CHRYSANTHEMUM SCHEHERAZADE

You don't realise that the wind is blowing around you, or the quiet murmuring of the birds beyond the fence. You don't feel the warmth of sun on your back, or in fact anything. All that your mind processes are the words in front of you, inside the tome on your lap. Nothing more, nothing else. All there is, is a princess, crooning over a knight, his armour gleaming in the sun above, his face hidden behind a helmet. No more is the princess some random character, she is you. And it's you crooning, and longing to be in his arms, and to fall in love with him. And you whisper the words that ~~you~~, the princess! says, "Marry me, kind Ser, for you are the hero that I see in my dreams. You are the moon of my nights, and the sun of my days. You will be my protecter, from this day forward, so marry me, kind Ser."

The wind blows harder but you still don't feel its stroking caress. You can't hear the rustling of the grass around you, or feel the pillow-like grass against your legs. You don't even feel the rest of the tree behind your back, a hardness keeping you upright. The words instead are passing faster and faster through your eyes, about riding on horseback through the landscape, all to bring ~~you~~ the princess back home, to where the princess and the knight to marry, to wed. All the while, the sun in the sky rises and rises, and soon, you're reading not in the dawn's soothing sun, but the sun's beating down on you, almost like a weight actually pushing down on you, almost lighter than a feather.

You carry on ready, whispering the words that you need to say, the princess's lines are no more than a script to you. "I take thee to be my Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do depart, and thereto give thee my troth." And then, the wind picks up higher still, the pages in front of you flicking forward at least a hundred pages. You lost your page. And, finally, noticing the world around you, you notice, that around you are people from school, their axes layed against the trees they themselves lean to. And on their faces, laughter. You feel your cheeks go red, and they see it too, but you still raise your arms and hands to cover it.

One of them steps forward, their de facto leader, not won by respect, but by fear. His face was not of laugher, but of snarl, of disgust, of you. "Oh, who've we found here," an almost whisper, but with raucous laughter erupting behind him. "Littleee oldddd Chry reading again. What a surprise!" And now he reaches down into your lap, and grabs the tome from it. You look up to him, and almost beg to him, "Please, please give it back, it's mine. Please." Tears fill your eyes as he ignores you. And he mutters one word to you, quietly, so only you can hear. "No," opening the book, "it's mine now," holding the book at the top on either side of the spine, "and I shall do what I want with it," ripping the book in half.

Your eyes well up falling within a second it it happening, the sobs escaping faster than you can stop them. "Wh..why did...did you do.. do.. do that? It..it was mine." You don't see the kick come in from him until in connects, and the tears fall down faster, harder, and you cry out loud. You just shut of as more just rain in, harder, harder. Quietly, you sob out, "Stop, you're hurting me. I wasn't doing anything. Stop! Please!" And they stop.

it's all just a {dream}

table by anzie

Last Edit: Aug 8, 2015 11:58:45 GMT -5 by ghosty

sadniss everdeen
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nyte: date fossils? is that some kind of fetish?

you're my {queen} and I'm your {lionheart} // ghosty Aug 8, 2015 14:25:24 GMT -5

Post by sadniss everdeen on Aug 8, 2015 14:25:24 GMT -5

Xena of Amphipolis

once upon a time
the ground shook
and the Gods cried
where I walked

Every part of you ripples as you climb, your strong forearms bracing against your leather bracers. Your feet are silent, ghosts, as they catch on the knots of the old trunk and push you further. There's an explosion of noise from below and you will yourself to stay quiet as you slink along the longest branch that extends like a reaching hand. If you jump, will you be able to get back up?

You peer down below. A girl hides her face as the boys circle her, their heavy boots leaving heliotrope halos on her ribs and legs. Something brushes against you - a piece of old paper, something more at home in the libraries of the Capitol, hidden under lock and key and only accessed with fingers sliding money and favours into the pockets of the officials. You'd been there once or twice, tales of old, of before extending out like a crystal staircase. You run your eyes over the page. It's recognizable - for someone to have this in the District instead of locked away is very rare indeed.

Maybe in another life you'd turn away. Before you'd pledged yourself to the Goddess, to walk her path and repay the debts you had taken what feels like a millenia ago, you could melt silently back into the foliage like you were a spirit of the old wood. But this is now, reawakened in a new body, and a shiver of unease ripples along your spine as the biggest one curls his lips into a sneer.

He reminds you of your first lover, Mars, god of war. You'd seen that exact expression before he set villages ablaze and once upon a time all you could see was how the flames turned his eyes to crystal. But now, looking back, all it did was turn the shadows under his cheekbones into something far more deep and dangerous than you knew.

With a deep breath, you let yourself fall.

There's a flurry of confusion as you hit the ground and roll to save your ankles, surging up in front of one of them. Your rise is coupled with your fist and he staggers back in a bright spray of blood. It arcs against one of the trees, marking it in crimson.

They've formed a semi-circle around you and you take a cautious step back, your right hand going back to draw your sword. It comes easily, a long hiss of whispering metal, and the polished steel glints in the sunlight like it's been set aflame. You glance backwards ever so fleetingly to the girl on the ground, giving an easy smile before your brows set in a scowl.

"Leave, and I'll only keep your pride instead of your life."

[OOC: Hey Ghosty! So, for things to work on for your next post: do you have a browser with spellcheck? I noticed a few errors here and there that would go away with something double-checking your words for you. And also, you tend to repeat phrases and statements a lot. Try and phase that out. If you need something to come across, try and make it memorable with good wording or a comparaison or something like that.]

ghosty
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Pronouns: he/him
last seen Dec 5, 2022 12:52:02 GMT -5

you're my {queen} and I'm your {lionheart} // ghosty Aug 10, 2015 10:28:37 GMT -5

Post by ghosty on Aug 10, 2015 10:28:37 GMT -5

[googlefont="PT Sans Narrow:400"]

CHRYSANTHEMUM SCHEHERAZADE

The moment the kicks stop, you breathe, the air rattling down your throat, stopping, starting. You can't trust yourself to talk, at least, not now. And, through your teared up eyes, the figure you see might as well be an angel, or Ripred, or a knight from your books. They could be none, or all of them, and you have no idea. But they are your saviour, no matter what they are. And you hear a ringing of metal on metal, and you wonder. Is this a knight, one that I dream of? A silenced murmur emerges from your lips, "My own knight, come to save me." They were only words that you could hear, and no one else. It's like your own little secret.

And instead of the words you know,the words that knights say, {"begone with you, enemy of the crown!"}, it's merely, "Leave, and I'll only keep your pride instead of your life." And the bullies you despise, scarper, like the rats that they resemble. No longer are your eyes filled with tears, the fear of pain long since gone. They're clear, with suspense and curiosity of your knight. And your knight is not who you think, not a man in full metal plate, his golden locks around his neck.

But instead, your knight is a woman. It doesn't change her at all, she is still a knight. Someone who saved a damsel in distress.

And you look beside you, to the pages of your ruined book, scattered everywhere, just like ants the moment you pour water on their nests. And despite everything, tears fill your eyes, accepting the anger of your parents, and the destruction of history. Literature that no one will ever see again, or in the quality that it was. And you feel a single tear roll down your cheek. Picking up a single crumpled page, you shake your head, and wipe your eyes with it. It was much more a tissue than a book now.

Thank you's roll of your tongue like water lapping up onto the shore. "Thank you so much, I was worried that they were going to hurt me. I guess that it's lucky that only a book got broken, and really, there's no point crying over broken books, is there?" And there's one more pressing question on your mind, one that's bursting to be released. "Are.. are you really a knight, Miss?"

it's only a {dream}

table by anzie