we're smashing mics in karaoke bars

within the coruscating clutch of vibrant hues intruded the stark contrast of a pallid canid. to the graze of a wandering eye she would appear to be partaking in a flippant carelessness with the way in which the length of her svelte figure lay abandoned amongst the flora. ears sloped lazily and the circular press of wide eyes focused keenly upon only what was in her immediate vision. however the curve of her serpentine positioning was far from negligent hence the sprightly dance of her neighbouring flowers continuing in an undeterred fashion, none of their peers crushed beneath the precise presence of her slim vessel. and the crease of brows hooding eyes shaded by the touch of concern were focused on the wearied stumble of a fuzzed bee. 

indeed if one were to linger long enough to truly study the picture of the girl in the valley they would come to the conclusion that the astute attentiveness creatures honed in order to survive these wilds was present, however they were not being used in the best interest of the wielder and rather the miniscule life forces which existed around her. 

a sigh shivered forth to stir the blades of grass reaching to tickle at the proximity of her chin, tail flicking its displeasure as the bee crashed haphazardly into her paw yet again. she didn't know what to do, she'd attempted to guide it into the silken embrace of the closest flower but it had promptly ignored what she'd been certain would be its saving grace and had continued to merely founder and fall. with each breath of the heavily scented breeze the girl had succumbed further to the clutches of fluster, paws pressing the spongy earth as teeth grit. what was its problem? why ignore the solution she posed? 

a tch broke the silence, that single strum of discord frolicking forth as she pushed to a sit and sat stiff and hunched. she was being a goddamn fool and she knew it. she shouldn't have allowed herself to come here, should have known better than to let the gossamer gleam of such a beautiful existence draw her in- this was always the end result of the wild flower's touch. that irrational desperation, taking itself out on whatever was near. she had no right to command death away from this bee if it was ready to hand itself to the cradle of the dark. 

she tore herself free of the chiacking stare of the closest blossom, chin tilting so that her look was met only by the endless stretch of rolling skies. clouds billowed together, allowing the fading light to bleed red and fiery from pathwork cracks. the yearn of her heart ached in dissatisfaction as she thought of the vague memory of a child who would've gasped in wonder at this sight and the fragmented life they represented. 

she could not bear to be trapped in this purgatory and the cracks such a weight posed on her mind were truly starting to show.

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[narrow width=800]from this dream, when she wakes fraught with terrible shivers and heaving, mouthing breaths, there is no one for her to melt into.

there are only phantom kisses and diaphanous touches at her ribs, her hips to soothe away that dream that too often she returns to: fallen from grace, from that gods-peak of nothingness and from his tundrian gods made of nothing that makes everything. from the folds of the divine and her own desecration, again. her very foundations unmade as they split her from herself. pearlmade by vellamo, strewn to shore as forsaken venus; wreathed in cloud, and then cold.

that soft murmur of a thousand hushed voices follows her still; through these strange, hissing stars, like the very heartbeat of the earth and just as primal. like raingathering and war-make. it has been hours since she had left her hollow-nest, yet she is half-haunted, always. always.

now, aėrith shivers, repainted from within.
(  aurëwen, andraste, neither, never – )

and she's fitful, when she finds this cottonspun pilgrim; the sun has not cleansed her of the soured cobwebs of that dream as she would've liked. so she moves with sturdy, listless steps toward this ... beekeeper, she supposes, rosebud nose snuffling absently over foxtail grasses and lupine shoots.

her voice is faraway-soft; lilting, low and all lost things, everything: "are you well, aiano — stranger??"[/narrow]

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ah- surprise prompts a sudden stirring from the vagabond, the touch of a silken enquiry cupping ears as she shifted to regard the newcomer not without a hint of atypical reproach. a weariness shadows the look that trails their flawless approach, befitting of the phantom like aura they carry - a splash of a gossamer beauty amongst the clutch of such brash vibrance. despite herself, polaris cannot help but find hints of pleasure in the aesthetic image such a contrast paints. 

the question, however, settles muddily in her mind and she sighs as its gloomy tendrils sprawl forth to engulf the specks of enthrall that had dared spark. was she well? life coursed vehemently throughout her healthy vessel and she who could recall the terrifying sensation of having that robbed, helpless and infinitesimal as thoughts and dreams and aspirations were reduced to the ability of a fragile body to remain intact whilst it failed at just that, she knew she should feel intense gratitude. yet....it would be important to remember that when you were a mere pawn in some ultimate game of chess such a gift would not be granted out of pure goodness. equal exchange...it was this bitter concept that made up the existence of everything, she'd had to pay up despite her lack of consent to be placed in this situation to begin with.

and so she was lost, plunged into a state or permanent, murky confusion. fragmented and forever seeking something she'd come to wonder if it was attainable at all. lips twitch upwards as she shakes the scraps of rumination from her mind to laugh lowly and hum "apologies i seem to lose myself to my thoughts from time to time, i am well- and you? it is beautiful here isn't it?" 

a charming smile as her nimble figure settles, she believes she may have once been one to wonder aloud. let passion rule her tongue and allow these thoughts to roam free as she'd invite her company whoever they may be to converse on these matters with open honesty. but how could she be sure of that? and so that thought itself posed the question that shackled her true character, confined it to the depths of her mind- 

what was the point? 

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[narrow width=800]she couldn't possibly fault this cottonspun stranger for a habit that likewise so often  ( too often, really )  ensnared her own mind and thus the nightingale gave a mere shrug of narrow shoulders; neverminding it as she took said invitation to come nearer to the other, now that she knew, or at least hoped, that she wasn't being as intrusive as she once believed. a bad habit of hers was that she tended to be a bit nosy  —  possibly a product of general curiosity furthered by how frequently she found herself on her lonesome, engulfed in cloying thoughts.

it seemed to matter not, though.

"it is ... mm, how would he say?"  a pause, before she favored her widow's tongue over the other in her momentary indecision: "kaihoisa. — nostalgic. known, and not. old and new, as if ..."  as if i walk amongst a half-remembered dream.

but, then  —  how was that different than any other hour she tread over the canvas of this wherever-where?

nevertheless, she settles down near this fellow wisp of hers; content for now to linger in the silence between them, before the inevitable time when it must be broken by either voice once more.

but, eventually, the two gyptians take their seperate leaves, with well-wishes and their own wayward winds to guide them.[/narrow]

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