Watercolor Wonder

[Songhue]

Interesting, the not-saying. The pausing. Strange.

Reverie, not-saying, looking here, looking there. Perhaps that was her manner, her answer. Or perhaps, as she'd said, her mind was slightly... Adrift. What would it be, then, to have such a mind, drifting and languid, rather than rapid pulses that required meditation to understand.

Much meditation would be needed, later. Later. Right now, there were others. Interesting, the way they handled themselves, the way they glanced about.

Lace, asking questions, shifting topics. Done with the puzzle, then; the stranger accepting his fate, his own brand of madness. None of them could handle it, he said. As if he were faring much better, unable to rest, unable to find peace. Will collapse, at some point, pass out; the physical need overtaking the noise. Could happen at the wrong time, could be trouble. Would be interesting to see.

None of them could handle it. Do it anyway. See what happens. Fix them after, see if it's different next time. Why not? Could be wrong; they might handle it. Would be interesting to find out.

Why not split it, then, dilute it through everyone if there was not one who could take it all? Simple, simple, so obvious it was overlooked. Foolishness, the whole thing. But he couldn't say, the topic laid to rest, the conversation moving forward, an extended pause to bring emphasis to the close. Why? No reason that he could find. Strange and interesting, the workings of these others.

He stumbles, the other one - still no name for him, nothing but the stranger, nothing but the disjointed mind. Problems, puzzles, killed as soon as mentioned, an uncertainty in him. Interesting. Uncertain footing, too. Had he felt it, the small break, the little release? So sensitive. Stumbling, just a bit. Interesting.

Not-saying, he could see it, not-saying in the rest of them, now. Why?

Foolishness, the whole thing.

Lace on the ground. Asking over bondeds. Would Reverie give answer? How long did she drift when in such a state? Could she control it, bring herself back? Maybe, maybe not. Were there cachets, a safeguard that kept her mind in place while dancing the lip of a volcano? Could she slip away, even then, worst timing, fascinating results. Why would she be on a volcano? Why not? Nice places, air made thin by fire's hunger, so warm, burns the skin just from the heat, if it's the wrong skin.

His wasn't the wrong skin.

Lace, Lace, he didn't know how to handle her, what to make of her. Pretty, pretty Lace. Grooming, then laying in the damp earth. Long pause, putting an end to it all. Sharp looks, pretty words. Such a paradox, this one. What would be next? He, sporadic, predictable, a bit mad. We are all of us, a little mad. Why not flaunt it? He was learning, shifting, adjusting. Plasma is fluid, sharp, deadly. So deadly. Couldn't flaunt that, now could he?

snap-snap-snap, his thoughts, so fast, a blink. Searing through him. Moving on, then. Forward, always forward, never back. Never go back.

The flash of memory, not his own, barbed tongue ripping flesh, charring the blood, cooling the burns. Keeping it alive, waiting, waiting, patience or else the shock would get in the way. Poison in the barbs. Crying, screaming. Licking, ripping, burning, waiting. Such fun to toy with them. Tasted better. Never go back.

Tiny pulses, bleeding through. Whose mind was this, that touched his? Hard to say; his had stretched, pulsed, pushed. Grabbed something, hadn't meant to, have to watch for that. Did the others know? This one had; connection cut short, slapping him, ripping him out of the other. Perhaps they all knew, but him. He was, after all, new to all of this.

New to it all, still adjusting, as she'd said. Not bad, for a new topic.

What was his bonded like?

She suits me, he said, turning his gaze towards Lace as he answered her, burnt brown eyes laying on her flesh. The only words for it. What of his, though, the other one's? Must have made an impression, to want already to keep them safe, all of them safe. Or perhaps he simply had a hero complex. Martyr.

She is a shifter type; different aspects, different faces. I've seen a cat and a four-winged centaur, so far. I'm sure there's more.

Felt like there was more. Felt large, inside of him, the bond. The claiming.

He is mine.

Yes. He was.

Your own? he asked, and let his gaze drop to each, marking the question open.

He reached, reached, reached into the earth, leaking the excess, small relief but enough. Enough.

He remembered his lessons. He would remember this lesson, too.

[Silverdust]

Had it been his choice, he would’ve made it simple. And maybe that was the reason—he’d not chosen. He’d been called, wrangled into form and spit out in the dense crush of so many voices. All the unsaid, or not-saying, as the Elemental seemed to be fixating on.

Maybe he’d just been meant to be unmade, in time. Once this was done. Once he could rest.

But he’d asked, and they’d offered, and in knowing just how far off-kilter he was, at least, there was value. He’d tried to be straightforward in this acceptance—but seemed he’d been too blunt for Reverie, whose dismissal redoubled. A cool wall, like glass, behind which she drifted, reaching and unmoored. He felt her swim past him, through him—closest word he could get, for what she did. Maybe she’d find an answer for that question that echoed—why on earth couldn’t it just pass on by? Impressive control that came so easy to her, so easy she couldn’t seem to imagine how it could be any other way—just as he couldn’t say why it was for him.

Lace, fidgeting. Kind in her way. Ever-amused. She looked just about as uncomfortable as he felt, but far better at redirection. Like Reverie, in some ways, how she did it—made herself the willful center of calm. He kept his focus to them, to their questions, while behind his eyes the Elemental crackled and pressed. Insistent. Do it anyways. So obvious. Obvious, maybe, to him—what beings he must be bound to, what being he’d become, that he could fathom such release. Small seed of darkness, wanting—snapped back. Oh, that made sense.

And his eyes were on him, again. Earth, cracked.

One of three. He kept it short, manageable. Half-sidhe, more human.

Maybe that had been what had drawn them. The split, down the halves of their beings. But then he knew the shaky ground, and where it would not settle. And she was always so close to breaking, Sive was. Martyr, indeed, perhaps. Or he was just stubborn, made in his name. Will was an unspoken thing. Unmeasured.

[Vineda]

There was the tiniest buzz in the back of her head, she assumed from the others she'd been speaking to. She let it trickle on in the background. Her mind flitted from the bug in front of her to a horned beetle in a thick forest to a lighter birch forest with a herd of deerlike creatures meeting for a council in a foot of snow. A winged deer-creature ran helter skelter as ash and smoke billowed into the sky from a waking volcano. A dead volcano with treasure piled at its heart. A woman at a campfire roasting food. Tall ships forging through rocky waters. Vantage points changed from onlooker to participant as she flitted from instance to instance. On and on they went. Were they her own memories? Surely not.

Buzz, buzz. There was no knowing how long she spent in each place, each vision. Reverie supposed she should probably check back in. Being aware of the drifting made it less real somehow. It had been a nice break from the pressure of the tension, but perhaps she should have considered the danger before zoning out like a zombie. Only trouble was there was no clear path back. Often it was just finding herself back in reality, not a conscious effort.

A break in the background noise made her curious. Had their group disbanded? When the buzz came again she latched on to it, used it to tow mind back to body. The disorientation of going from the freedom of mind to the physical of body was becoming more familiar. With a few blinks she was catching words that unsurprisingly did not make sense to her. One of three... She glanced around. Was that a questioning look from Lace? Why was the other mare on the ground?

I did not mean... What did I miss? The mare was not yet used to having to explain to others, to account for herself in these social situations. Sorry. The pressures you two hold around yourselves are great, and I am not accustomed. I'm still... as Lace would say, adjusting. Her stomach gave an audible grumble, and she looked around in what she hoped was a surreptitious manner for possible sources of food as she awaited an answer.

[Aria]

The responses she received from the others were varied, as she expected them to be. Plasma answered first. It was as if they were taking turns, in a particular order, or maybe that was just her imagination. All he said at first was that his bonded suits him. A she, as a matter of fact. After a moment, he explained that she is a shifter, one able to change her appearance as desired. He has seen her as a cat and a centaur. Lace smirked slightly at the comment, curious about shape shifting and what it must be like. She was asked about her own, but she chose to let the others answer before her.

Reticent was next. One of three, he had said. Lace wasn't sure what he meant by that exactly, and her eyes narrowed. Was he bonded to more than one? Or was he one of three that were bonded to one? Then he added that he or she was part sidhe, part human. Lace had never heard the term "sidhe," and made a mental note to ask about it another time. Perhaps when Reticent felt less over-crowded. Their gazes shifted to Reverie, who had clearly lost herself in thought. The expression of surprise, as if she suddenly came back to this world where she was standing, made Lace laugh. A wide grin and a chuckle, and Lace shook her head.

Your bonded, dear... what are they like? How are you adjusting? Lace added, helping to steer Reverie back to the conversation. She smiled, a kind expression hoping to show she wasn't poking fun, only teasing. She shifted her gaze back to Plasma. I am still learning about mine. Doesn't talk much at all. Peaceful. Of human shape, pointed ears and sharp eyes. Caring. was the best she could describe her own. Beautiful, elegant, graceful... is more how she really felt. Her bonded was an angel and warrior. Lace liked her, and her new bond mates in fact.


(OOC: So sorry for the wait! Long week, very little laptop access, family in town, etc.)

[Songhue]

Pressures, she had said. Pressing her how? Out of her skin? Not elemental pressures, she couldn't feel the excess he needed to leak in place of what he normally allowed to take the form of mane and tail; for the other one was sensitive, but had no such abilities with which to cause pressures. Not that he could tell. Wouldn't he tell an elemental? He should know, there was a feel, a connection they held to the rest of the world. Magic was tangible to those who worked it.

Perhaps it was tangible to all their kind, for they were all creatures born of magics.

It was a much more interesting subject than that of bonded, a small question with simple enough answers. They were new, each of them, and couldn't have had such a vast impression made quite yet.

Pressures of another sort imposing upon her - the same pressures that had some of his new bondmates leery, uncertain. Until they eventually came to realize they were held in favor. He would find a way to let them know, in time. This had been informative for that purpose, this meeting of strangers.

Perhaps the talk of their bonds could be expanded on, however new they all were to it. Focusing too intently on disassembling Reverie's discomfiture may prove uncomfortable for her.

Would this be his life, then, always curbing his own inclination for the sensitivities of others? How droll.

You hold sensitivities as well, he observed, and eyed her like a fascinating new specimen for dissection. This is your method coping, this evasion? Do you need such methods even with your new bonded, then?

There was always someone he could pick apart, study, learn from. All the better if he could honestly pick into her brain, but it was not meant to be so. Shame.

Lace, though, lace baffled him even still. Laughter at the small confusion, but not meant as unkind. Paradoxical. The empathy lad, so abruptly short with his response; a species designation, a general appearance. Was that all he knew from the joining of souls? There must be more, though why keep it buried?

My bonded is a shifter, he repeated, his gaze heavy upon the pink-gray hide of his new discovery, I've seen two faces already, though the shifting seems involuntary. There are... Abnormalities within each aspect. She suits me.

Attentive, so far at least; time would tell if that lasted, or if it was merely the fact that he was still adjusting, as Lace would say. Strict, from what he'd seen with others. Protective. Frighteningly protective.

Protective. I suppose all bondeds must be this way?

[Silverdust]

Middle of his answer, Reverie anchored herself again. Some pang of hunger along her line, reminding his flesh-form of its needs. And that, too, to get used to. In the before, there’d been no need. The arrogant one—Trite—had taken to following him about, forcing him to a schedule. Troublesome once more—a bright red pressure to match the one in his head. Ones that were unique to him, by Reverie’s words.

It felt—vaguely less, when she’d drifted off. Distance, maybe. Space outside herself, or space closer to her own. But whatever logic his Link followed was beyond him.

The Elemental crackled curiosity, questions. Maybe he’d be the type that could figure it out, only—well, Reticent had heard the turn of his screw. Knowledge would come, no doubt; weighed against the cost, he wasn’t sure there’d be enough left to be worth it. And he wondered, vaguely, if that was a thing with these Elementals. Confetti—walking the same cold line.

Lace also flickering curiosity at his answer, a lighter touch than the Elemental. He didn’t know what else to say beyond what he’d given; still learning, perhaps, as she said she was. There was not much about Sive to hold on to, anyways—distant sister, they’d called her. Loosest hold. That had sealed it, for him. Sive, who could no longer be quite so free anymore, with all that had fallen in her lands. The empath. The Warrior. Him.

The pressure was less. He wished he knew why—could be the easy questions, what they did to the Elemental’s flow. Tied it to simpler things, smaller focus; lightning rods, streams to divert a flood. Could be something else entirely. But if Reverie missed the first answer, might be proper to elaborate, as the Ghost did.

My Bond is half-sidhe. White hair, gold eyes. Older than she looks. He borrowed the shape of what Lace had described, enough to draw a loose picture. Not so protective, no. Not to me, anyways.

The other two sisters were different, from what he’d gathered. But he’d not much interest in them—not until he needed to take it.