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  Mid-Winter, Year 2    Leviticus Era
A meeting for the Knights of Lyrus is being hosted by Commander Kodarki in the Red Waste!
Destroyah has lost to Draco in a heated fight, but we're sure we'll see more from the mare!
Valor the dragon-horse has lost against Zuriel, fighting on behalf of Etain for Crucis!
The Hall of the Dead now has an official forum within the Depths.
Beaufort takes Amapola to the Creation Pool after she was badly beaten by Valor.
Valor calls together the horses of the Viridian Fields for a meeting.

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Open  I WANT AN OLD YELLOW FERRARI FROM THE '90S IN MY DRIVEWAY; [HoM]
Rogue

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 Adult, 6 yrs  Stallion
 16.0 hh  1100 lbs
23 Posts 145 points
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Posted on Dec 15 2017, 11:35 PM.
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#1

IN THE END, EVERYTHING COLLIDES
MY CHILDHOOD SPAT BACK OUT THE MONSTER THAT YOU SEE

The soft emberglow from his markings cast a fiery haze around his dark silhouette. He walks without truly seeing; he passively follow the cavern down, following the eerie phosphorescent light of the mushrooms. He barely blinks; his expression has calcified into a hollow glare. 

He passes others, as he walks. Some pass too close to him. For a second he flashes out of his mind and in his subconscious he watches himself rip ears and hair and skin from those nameless interlopers. The hatred suffuses him, hot and irrational. He knows it’s irrational. The growl in his belly manifests as a sneer on his lips, a force in his steps that belies his leggy build. 

He hates them all. But then it changes. Then he sees them and for a second they are all people loved by someone – people with hopes and dreams and aspirations that belong to them alone, so fragile and so easily broken – and he nearly cries in empathy. 

But here’s the thing: They matter. They matter to him, even for that brief moment before he resumes wanting to rip their throats out for breathing. They probably matter to their mate, to their friends. They never finally found the one person who could change everything for them – the one person they wanted to see every day, every night, every evening – the one person they could trust with the darkest and most twisted parts of themselves, only to be cast aside without so much as an explanation. 

At this particular moment that’s what Baraqel can’t get past. Pyraedas claimed to feel something for him. But it’s impossible to leave someone you care about – even on a purely basic, slightly-more-than-acquaintance level – without a word.

Baraqel is a fucking. Idiot. 

This is his first time in the House of Mischief. It’s sparsely populated now; guess most of the entertainers are busy. He is like a flaming shadow slinking from the convoluted tunnels, ears pressed to his skull, conflagrant gaze nearly black with rage. The bar is tended by some black and blue crone, who gives him a rather apathetic look as he approaches as if she’d dealt with him and his kind with his problems every day for most of her appreciably long life. She has no fucking idea, He swallows the snarl that threatens to part his lips and instead affixes an expression that is, if not cordial, at least passably neutral. “Two bourbons, neat.

The barkeep raises an eyebrow. “Where’s yer date, lad?

Now he does smile, but it’s a fierce lupine expression that might’ve scared someone of lesser steel than Anne Bonny. “That’s an excellent question, Ma’am,” he says, almost cheerily. “If you see her, would you let me know?” 

Annie’s expression doesn’t change. “I can’t serve ye two drinks at once, lad. Fer yer own good. Ye finish this, an’ I’ll make yeh another. And if yeh ever call me ‘Ma’am’ again, I’ll send yeh to the locker meself.” Something flashes in Baraqel’s mind then. For my SAFETY? I’ve been trying for fucking lifetimes to get myself killed, and you think your rotgut whiskey poses a threat to me? He laughs, once, a chortle that draws a sharp look from the crone. But he doesn’t say this. He doesn’t say it because in a split second he pictures himself thrown from this bar, the only reliable source of alcohol on this godforsaken island. 

Thank you kindly,” he says, biting back a remark about how there’s no fucking locker to send someone to when you’re on fucking land. 

He takes his drink and retreats to a hightop (if that’s what you really want to call an only slightly misshapen boulder a meter or so away from the bar), sipping his drink and glaring into the featureless shadows away from the hub of the House. 

OOC: 
Muse: “Ferrari” by the Neighbourhood
Don’t worry about length matching, that was a muse dump. 


SOMEWHERE ANOTHER PRETTY VEIN JUST DIED
I'VE GOT THE SCARS FROM TOMORROW AND I WISH YOU COULD SEE
THAT YOU'RE THE ANTIDOTE TO EVERYTHING EXCEPT FOR ME


Rogue

Aggressor
 Adult, 10½ yrs  Stallion
 15.2 hh  1100 lbs
24 Posts 180 points
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Posted on Dec 27 2017, 11:02 AM.
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#2



we go way back, my mask and i
He watched the crowds move to the bar and back as they kept an eye out for any of the entertainers walking about. Their eyes would latch onto them hungrily when one emerged, before being quickly swiped away for another hour or so. Once in a while, he'd feel those predatory glances skim over his own frame - but he wasn't an entertainer. Viktor was a bartender. Well, when he was on duty he was. Not that he'd turn anyone away if they asked him nicely, of course.

But at the moment he was just people watching, keeping an eye on the masses from the edge of the bar, a massive grin stuck to his lips. Viktor loved people - they were all so interesting, so much fun. He didn't like to see them broken or unhappy or crying their eyes out - although he was as broken as they get, held together with sticky tape and poorly made glue.

It wasn't like this place had been his first choice of shelter. He'd been part of a herd for a very brief period of time. He'd made a friend, and tried settling down. But fate held a grudge against him for cheating on her one too many times - such a spiteful bitch - and she seemed intent of tossing him into the biggest pile of shit she could make. Well, fuck you. PTSD isn't enough?

He glanced across the bar to watch a black and red brute order his drinks. Two of em, eh? He held back a laugh as he watched the back and forth of conversation between the bartender and him with blue-green eyes.

Okay, maybe he let out a guffaw when the lady threatens to throw him in the locker - but it's masked by the man's own laughter. And maybe Viktor's gaze lingers on him as the stud makes his way to the hightop with a single beverage in tow.

He lets a moment pass before making his way on up behind the man, looking up to catch the man's own red orbs. With all the grace of a professional dancer - and maybe a hint of childlike clumsiness - the overo man brings himself maybe a bit too close to the taller, lean-built man with the biggest, brightest grin you could imagine.

"Hey, handsome," he might as well give it a shot, mightn't he?

"Tough day?"
OOC| Baraqel
 
waiting is wasting for people like me


Rogue

Aggressor
 Adult, 6 yrs  Stallion
 16.0 hh  1100 lbs
23 Posts 145 points
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Posted on Dec 28 2017, 2:07 AM.
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#3

IN THE END, EVERYTHING COLLIDES
MY CHILDHOOD SPAT BACK OUT THE MONSTER THAT YOU SEE

Well, the whiskey doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t help as much as he wished it would, but it doesn’t hurt. Times like this always remind Baraqel of the first time he ever drank alcohol. He was probably two, hyper-powered with demi-god-esque Fire and Lightning powers from his magnificent mother and sociopath father, climbing the ranks of Ni’Srilan’s military. He’d been devastating lesser adversaries for months and finally came up against someone of his own muster. He got his ass kicked. When his step-father, General of Ni’Srilan’s ally nation, came around, Baraqel expected a lecture. Instead the big grey Pegasus poured him out a tumbler of rum and said, “This here won’t make the pain go away, but it’ll somehow make you not care about it.
 
It’s one of those things that stuck with Baraqel. The whiskey doesn’t make him forget Pyra. It doesn’t make him any less sad that she deserted him like some drunk floozy she found on Tinder a half-hour after bars closed. But it makes him care a whole lot less about it. By the time the other stallion wanders up with that shit-eating grin, Baraqel is swimming in rather muted thoughts and for a second he glances behind himself, convinced that there’s no way this dude is that fucking happy to see his grumpy face.
 
Is the guy a hooker? He certainly moves with a certain…elegance. But there’s a sharp edge to him, too. That’s probably why Baraqel doesn’t immediately snap at him for being some pollyannish dandy – he’s not all that he appears, which makes two of them. So in response to Viktor’s question he shrugs a shoulder. “No. Today was neither here nor there.” he takes a draft of whiskey. “It’s the vast expanse of other, shitty days before this one that I take issue with.” It’s good food for thought, really. Why did he choose now to finally accept that Pyra’s never coming back? Now that he’s lived an almost infinite number of years, survived several apocalypses, erupted like a phoenix from the ashes of his own inevitable death more times than he can count on one hand (hand, not hoof, hoof wouldn’t be all that impressive really by our narrator’s standards)? It’s strange when your mind meets a turning point – strange and inexorable and somehow irreversible.
 
After a moment’s introspection he realizes the paint stallion is still there. Tossing a floppy mess of crimson forelock to one side of his head, he levels a weary gaze at the man. “Look, bro, I’m sure you’re quite the hit around here, but if you’re trying to make an extra coin or two off of me I gotta tell you, you’re not my type.” Then, he mutters, half into his drink, “The only dicks I’m into are apparently of the ‘asshole’ variety.” he pauses, then levels a somewhat suspicious look at the other man. “Don’t go making double entendres out of that, either. It sounded cleverer in my head.” Truly, few things that materialize in his head could escape completely un-mangled at this point, but he takes another sip of his whiskey and perseveres. He keeps a single eye on the old pirate bartender, wary lest she walk too far away and not be standing at attention when he gets around to that second drink he was promised.
 
OOC: Viktor 


SOMEWHERE ANOTHER PRETTY VEIN JUST DIED
I'VE GOT THE SCARS FROM TOMORROW AND I WISH YOU COULD SEE
THAT YOU'RE THE ANTIDOTE TO EVERYTHING EXCEPT FOR ME


Rogue

Aggressor
 Adult, 10½ yrs  Stallion
 15.2 hh  1100 lbs
24 Posts 180 points
 Moseley Offline
Posted on Dec 28 2017, 9:05 PM.
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#4



we go way back, my mask and i
Up close, the guy was even more good looking. He was captivated by the way the stud's rune markings glowed like the embers of a fire. It wasn't that he was particularly into the guy, but more because Viktor was a man-child who found things that glowed fascinating.

He'd been staring like a kid in a candy store when the other man rolled his shoulder in response to his questioning, Viktor's pale, scarred nose almost close enough to touch the glowing flesh and growing steadily closer. 

The man's voice snapped him out of his dazed state, blue-green eyes flicking up to meet the man's gaze instead. So, another guy trying to forget his past, eh? Well, Viktor had been doing a pretty decent job of it until recently. (Fuck you Zac! You ignorant asshole!)

"You and me both, then," he let loose a soft chuckle. The sound was not flat, but neither was it humorous. It laid between the realms of indifference and amusement, but as with the rest of his speech, it was almost unnaturally cheerful. Not forced, though.

Viktor didn't particularly want to tell his backstory to anyone unless necessary, so he figured it best not to pry into this other guy's one. The past was the past - it ought to stay that way. Yet, it clung to many like the very ghost it was, one the overo man had tried many times to bury deep beneath the surface of the earth. Hell, he'd tried burning it in the hottest fires he could make and drowning it in the ocean. It was a persistent bastard.

So, he was thankful for the change of topic. Even if it was to turn him down.

"Hah hah, it was worth a shot though," he smiled and winked at the man, tossing his own soft brown forelock with the gesture.

The man continued with his comments, to which Viktor could only laugh. It was a nicer sound this time, one that held onto the humour the last had lacked, filling his eyes with life. 

"Don't worry, I get what you mean," the words were slipped in between his peels of laughter, "Unfortunately most of the guys interested in me are of both variety."

And just like that, he was back to thinking of Zac and the very world he wanted to leave behind. Great job, Viktor! Absolutely bloody fantastic.

"Anyway, Viktor desu!" the smile was back, a big grin flashing across his features as he introduced himself in a foreign tongue as natural to him as the mother tongue.
OOC| Baraqel o.O Viktor's all over the place atm.
 
waiting is wasting for people like me


Rogue

Aggressor
 Adult, 6 yrs  Stallion
 16.0 hh  1100 lbs
23 Posts 145 points
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Posted on Jan 13 2018, 12:19 AM.
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#5

Letting people down is my thing, baby

You and me both, then. The other man’s response is not the tawdry come-on he’d been expecting. Instead, its almost jarring in its honesty – jarring in the sense that, for a moment, Baraqel is forced out of his tunnel-vision of introspection and brought back to the reality that there are other people in the world, too, and they also have problems.
 
Some of them deal with it by smiling brightly and trying to meet new people. Others deal with it by pinning their ears and glaring at the world and drowning themselves in whiskey.
 
In any case, Baraqel’s grumpy expression softens somewhat. Annie passes him his next drink and he gives her a somewhat defeated nod, lifting the glass to his lips. It was worth a shot though, the other stallion jests, and Baraqel cracks a smile. Damn, he could use this kid’s outlook on life. “Only way to fail for sure is to never try,” he can almost hear his stepfather, doling out that lecture during some training session or another. Commander Alshain was never content with just showing his sons (and stepson) how to kick ass; instead, he needed to teach them the wisdom and honor of the martial arts. Most of it didn’t stick. The rest didn’t stick either, but comes back every now and then in trite mantras that run through his mind, usually when he’s hungover and morose.
 
The other stallion – Viktor – laughingly interjects that he knows many kinds of assholes. “Well, Viktor, I’m Baraqel.” he offers. “So do you work here? Sorry if I was presumptuous about it. Dunno if you can tell, but I’m a little bit - ” he pauses, takes a sip of his whiskey (his mood lifted enough to enjoy being a little theatrical about the whole thing) – “testy at the moment.” He’s almost positive he hears that damn bartender stifle a chuckle from behind him.
 
OOC: Viktor sorry about the wait! 


So fuck your dreams
Don't you pick at my seams
I'll turn into a monster for you, if you pay me enough


Rogue

Aggressor
 Adult, 10½ yrs  Stallion
 15.2 hh  1100 lbs
24 Posts 180 points
 Moseley Offline
Posted on Jan 13 2018, 6:37 PM. (Edited: Jan 13 2018, 6:38 PM by Viktor.)
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#6



we go way back, my mask and i

Oh, so this guy was a pessimist? Well, Viktor kind of was too. But his life had gotten so low he couldn't possibly sink any lower. So fuck it all, let's go full swing into everything and see what happens. Can't get hurt any worse, right?

He couldn't contain the giddiness that overcame his guts when the other man smiled though. The overo man loved to make others smile, to brighten their days. They didn't deserve to hurt like he had, to be down in the dumps. To be depressed.

"Haha, wise words!" the glistening smile and almost giggling voice carried forwards that genuine glee. He still leaned close to his new companion, shoulder close to almost touching the other man's, but that was simply what Viktor did. It was reassurance that he was here and not lost somewhere. He needed it to keep going.

"Priyatno poznakomit'sya, Baraqel!" the Russian words slip from his tongue so easily and naturally, Viktor doesn't even notice them.

Instead, he hangs on Barqel's words a little too much, but it's with the innocence of a child rather than anything else. Where Anne Bonny may have been able to stifle her chuckle, Viktor certainly didn't. He never even attempted, to be honest. But he was laughing with the man, not at him.

"Testy, eh?" he said between the laughter before settling down to answer the question.

"I do work here, don't worry," the words were dismissive, "But I'm more of a bartender than entertainer - when I'm needed anyway. Not that an extra coin or two hurts."

He ended with a wink, repeating the man's earlier words.

OOC| Baraqel No worries! And sorry it's short, I've posted myself out today xD
 

Priyatno poznakomit'sya - Russian - Nice to meet you
waiting is wasting for people like me




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