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[P] my anger will stain the morning sun - Printable Version

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+---- Thread: [P] my anger will stain the morning sun (/showthread.php?tid=6949)



my anger will stain the morning sun - Fever - 03-11-2022

Snip. Snip.

Every day that goes by continues to cripple Fever’s mind – she is haunted by imaginary scissors coming to cut the length of her tail, to sever the only cultural tie she has to her slave-mates, her mother, and the buried past of her childhood in Solterra. The abstract woman has spent the beginning of her spring season occupied at the festival in Delumine – and now she is home, festivities and false prattle now distant, and she can refocus her attention to the root of reason for her homecoming.

To find her mother.

To see her previous slave-mates free.

To rekindle the very few yet precious relationships that she was sure had blown away in the wind, like ash, to slip through her fingers and forever remain unattainable.

It was hard to imagine when she was a child, sneaking over the wall, desperate to reach the place where the sun rises. Just a filly running through the adobe streets, forever eager to reach the capital, to see where the King sits on his throne. 


At the time, Fever truly believed she would see the throne room, certain that every pleasure she was ever denied as a kid would manifest and become tangible gifts: gold riches, luxurious silks, strings of diamonds that reflected the prisms of the sun. All the nobles that surrounded her often, they were such beautiful people – at that time – their elegance and sophistication, the way they effortlessly charmed one another, kissing their friends’ cheeks, enjoying tea and exotic fruits.

Enjoying clean water.

The soldiers in the barracks were treated like royalty as well; showered with blessings, praised like they fell out of Solaris’ womb, and they could never do any wrong as they grabbed their pikes and armor and raced into the sands, hungry to slay the monsters that roam the deserts tirelessly. 

Fever would never get that praise. She’d never effortlessly be accepted in the socialite circles of the elite, and her body didn’t carry the muscle or scars of a warrior. She had been born a slave, and so she remained at the bottom of Solaris’ foot – an afterthought as He steps on her.

She was so tired of warring with everyone.

Convinced that the world needed to suffer because no one ever showed her a helping hand when she was a baby. No one ever came to the rescue – the other slaves content to live within the exhibits like work animals.

Fever was exhausted as she climbed the stairs of Day Court, finding an open courtyard that overlooked the countryside – lolling hills of dry brush and sand, and there at the horizon, the ocean. As the sun was beginning to set, she would watch the colors metamorphosized, pale yellow to rose pink, and then to rich salmon and amethyst clouds. 

Once upon a time, Fever promised a friend they’d escape Solterra and go see the ocean.

She feels the rims of her eyes sting and she softly closes them, leaning against the railing, taking a deep breath – she swiftly checks her surroundings to ensure she is alone, and although the city was always full of chatter, she was certain no one would approach her here. So she lets down the walls, and with the weight of her responsibilities finally dragging her down, she’d carefully slide down to her knees, crumpled and pressing the side her face against the clay banister. Quickly, the viper bites down on her lip, and she curses Solis, the flame in her ignites into a wildfire that threatens to burn her alive.

But she doesn’t cry like she needs to, she just furrows her brow, hugs herself to the cool adobe stone, trying to breathe through her anger.

She was supposed to take her mother to the capital – and here Fever was, experiencing it without her.

It makes the bile in her stomach bubble and simmer, it makes her mouth taste like rot, it makes her want to scream Temper’s name into the night.

But she doesn’t. She knows that if Temper is still enslaved, that announcing her only saving grace would certainly be the death of her.

If she wasn’t already dead.

Fever kills the thought of her mother possibly never surviving the assault on their masters. 

Instead, she remains crumpled, desperately blinking away the rage, determined to pull herself together and continue searching this damned city. Certainly, a few moments alone wouldn’t hurt. Her long tail swats and wraps her up, like a comfort blankie, and she patiently waits for her temper tantrum to pass.

God damn - Fever misses her mother immeasurably.




@Cordelia

inspirational piece for the music played at Fever's tent
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RE: my anger will stain the morning sun - Cordelia - 03-19-2022

Cordelia

you are a vast forest
full of beautiful and vibrant stories


T
he sun hangs overhead, and brings warmth to the stone streets of Solterra. Solis is watching, he is always there a friend had told her not that long ago in her tea shop. The small devout woman had nothing left but her faith and friendship in the tea-shop owner who once thrust blades into the hearts of beasts and men. Now she hobbled along the hot stone streets alone, carrying components for new teas in the satchel at her side. The satchel rested beneath her sheer cape fastened to her shoulder with the pendant of a sun. Cordelia almost missed the equine tucked out of sight from the main thoroughfare. She had horns crawling out from her face and along her nape. Gold chains encircle parts of her bodice, painted in rich browns and ivory as white as snow. There is no mane on the stranger, but there is a very long beautiful tail.

Cordelia pauses her movements, her old body relishing in the moments of stillness as she studies the stranger. It seems like they need a friend, and what better friend to have than a brand new grandma? The small palomino woman with a crown on her head, which she wears for no other reason than she likes to feel like a princess at times, approaches the stranger pressed into the cool stone walls of Solterra. Cordelia drops herself right beside the beautiful stranger and tucks her legs carefully so as not to irritate them for later in the day. Despite the fact that she was immortal, Cordelia still got all the fun pains of being older because she did not stop aging until she was already 15.

The retired adventurer reaches into her bag and pries out a few of the apple turnovers she'd made earlier in the day and offers one to the stranger.  "You looked like you could use a friend. Have an apple turnover, I made them this morning." She speaks up with a warm smile and a look of adoration on her face. "I'm Cordelia. The resident tea-shop owner here in Solterra and my newest adventure is to befriend and adopt grandchildren all over Novus." She smiles, her warmth swells as she offers her goals to the stranger. "This dangerous world needs more love, don't you think? It ought to start with us. Consider yourself newly adopted. Now tell me what's troubling such a beautiful young lady like yourself. And what do I call you?" 


Cordelia was beaming, although she sensed a heavy sadness about the woman, she didn't mind. As delusional as she might have seemed to others, her treatment of everyone wouldn't change unless warranted. Cordelia would be the first to defend and protect anyone from bad actors. She was the cheerleader everyone needed every once in a while. That was just who Cordelia genuinely was.

@Fever
What a lovely character a;jd she's adopted.




RE: my anger will stain the morning sun - Fever - 04-05-2022

At the quiet sound of footfalls, Fever pivoted a single ear in the direction of an approaching stranger. With a sharp inhale, her eyes slide to her backside, narrowing at the approaching figure. The mare is extremely petite, her body full of soft and full shapes that suggest kindness and warmth, her eyes large and the color of dying days: a dusky blue, round and full of life despite their ghastly pallor. At the sight of a crown placed on her head, Fever could feel a shiver of panic run through her veins. 

Was she nobility?

The last type of person Fever wanted to fraternize with is a social-ladder-climbing, pompous, arrogant smudge of a person. Fever's teeth grind in detestable fury as the lady invites herself to lay next to Fever. The stare in her eyes is something akin of spite and desperate fear, careful to not spit venom, assuming that if she were to cause a scene the stranger would scream and project herself and guards would swarm them, identify Fever, and swiftly end her life.

Fever was not afraid of death, but she needed to stay alive to find her mother.

And the words of the clairvoyant echoed in her head. She needs to play nice, she needs to cooperate.

But cooperating is so difficult when she is so used to warring with everyone.

Fever lifts her chin in distaste at the pastry - what if she is trying to poison her? Does she know that the last time she ate with nobles she poisoned them? Is this some wild and wicked revenge scheme?

Her paranoia makes her words bitter as she speaks,“I don't need your pity, and I care little for your child stealing plights.”

After the words left her mouth, she could feel the sting of them, like a double-edged sword where no one wins. As she looks down to the gilded palomino, her stomach twists in knots; the warmth and generosity of this small one reminded her of Temper. Briefly, a moment of shame touched the bay chimera's face, her mouth a frown as her gaze is downcast. Fever wonders if her tongue has taken it too far, so blinded by her selfish emotions that she had forgotten herself: she loves her court, she loves the people of Solterra, in all their grit and sun-clad glory. She adores the common folk and their steadfast nature, their ways of rising above despite always being labeled as blood-thirsty and savage.

A deep sigh shakes her body,“I don't have any love to give, Cordelia.”Fever's eyes are apologetic, though quickly return to the ground, her prickly-pear senses still advising her to keep the walls up. 

@Cordelia
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