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+---- Thread: if it don't take two (/showthread.php?tid=11325)
if it don't take two - Vesper - 05-13-2025
The Sunshine Pools are anything but. Vesper walks now, no longer the sleek gallop of before, but a brisk, ground-eating pace that carries the weariness of midday heat baked into his bones. His dark coat gleams under the punishing sun, slick with sweat that slides down his flanks in slow, sticky rivers. Even the shimmer of his white rosettes is dulled, muted beneath the glare. Every breath is a weight, pulled through air that feels more like ash than oxygen.
A low snort punches from his lungs as the stench of sulphur rises, thick and egg-foul, clinging to his nostrils and curling at the back of his throat. His ears pin flat against his skull, then flick back up only to flatten again in frustration. A sharp toss of his head follows, more reflex than rebellion, trying to shake the smell loose like flies. The pools bubble nearby, deceptive with their ripples and soft edges, but Vesper knows better than to drift too close, though Frey if it doesn't make him thirsty.
RE: if it don't take two - Colt - 05-13-2025
She's slumped against his neck, cheek pressed against the heat of his hide as her arms cross overtop and fold into the mess of his mane. She's grateful for the pace, her seat tired and loose, legs swinging a bit with the wide stretch of his gait. His sweat and the residue of each land they've crossed thus far is like an earthy cologne, one she's greedy for given the other aroma that creeps in every so often with the threat of a gag.
[say]"I've never missed ice more in my life,"[/say] she groans into him, a rosy tint coloring her chest and arms where her hat doesn't cast a shadow. [say]"I'd kill for a snow cone."[/say] pineapple and lime flavor, please. [say]"Or a popsicle. Doesn't matter what flavor, even shitty grape would do."[/say]
Whoever wins this fucking buckle better kiss them both.
A movement of his shoulder knocks her hat off. It tumbles down before her tangled hands can grab it. [say]"Shit—Ves, my hat."[/say] She wouldn't have cared, has a dozen back home, except the intensity of the sun already has her squinting. [say]"Sorry, can you get it, or stop?"[/say]
RE: if it don't take two - Vesper - 05-13-2025
The words ice, snow cone, and popsicle might as well be spells. Vesper's ears flick irritably at the mental image—shaved ice, citrus tang, melting cool against the back of his throat. He groans internally, tongue flicking against dry gums. His head tosses sharply, jolting her off his neck with just enough drama to make his point. She didn't get slouching privileges against his neck if he was going to be a godsdamn tease.
But then her hat goes tumbling.
He stops with a long-suffering sigh, dust puffing faintly around his hooves as he stands there, flank heaving in the stagnant heat. A lazy pivot follows, his body curving into a slow, deliberate circle until he’s facing the wayward piece of fabric. He eyes it for a moment like it might bite him—then stalks forward with the exaggerated irritation of someone absolutely keeping score.
He noses the hat once. Twice. Then grabs it, teeth careful but unmistakably smug. He bobs it once, twice, holding it up in a little showy flourish as if to say, this? before twisting his neck around and offering it back to her—dusty, a little bent, and dangling from his mouth like the world's most reluctant bouquet.
RE: if it don't take two - Colt - 05-13-2025
The one new thing about riding him, she can't reprimand him into the curve of her every whim. On her horses, if she wants to slouch, she can slouch, and it's their job to put up with it. It's their job in fact, to do whatever it is she asks, and to do it smart and quick, full of heart and patience. She's certain if she attempted any of her usual tactics with him, that he'd leave her here in the desert for good.
She leans up, slow and lazy, hands still perched by his withers as he bows around for her hat. There's a smirk pulling on her lips at all his dramatic flair, each heavy breath and backward slanted ear like a string of snark she can only imagine. [say]"Thanks,"[/say] she says as he plucks it up, but as she reaches for it, expecting a hand off, he keeps it. His little head roots into the air like an obstinate pig, hat flapping up and down, the brim bending with each wave. Her gaze narrows, and as he does finally turn it towards her, she pulls at it with a dry [say]"thaaaaaanks."[/say]
Although she should just be happy he didn't step on it, it's a little hard to find that glee when she's gotta wipe the streak of his dirt-slobber from it.
RE: if it don't take two - Serendipity - 05-13-2025
And now it's you that they're watching.
As Hak Etme has been taken over by the Family, remaining in this area will be dangerous as the flora/fauna will continue to grow increasingly hostile toward you. Remaining in this thread for a prolonged period of time will likely trigger a KQ.
You’ve encountered Void Infected Cloud Spiders. This counts as an uncommon creature encounter for the purposes of levelling, but does not count as a Random Event for levelling or MP. There will be no further admin/re intervention. If you choose to follow this creature, you do so at your own risk, however, just having it in this thread is enough to satisfy your levelling requirements.
RE: if it don't take two - Vesper - 05-13-2025
The sound comes low at first—skitter-soft, like wind through dry reeds or bones clicking in a shallow grave. Vesper’s head snaps up just as Colt takes the hat from between his teeth. His ears spear forward, his whole body going rigid beneath her in an instant. Muscles tighten beneath her thighs,as his nostrils flare, catching the scent of something too wrong, too void-touched, too other.
That’s all the warning she gets. A second later, the desert explodes beneath them as Vesper bolts.
It’s not a clever retreat or a measured escape. It’s flight in its purest form—raw, blistering, a full-bodied sprint that eats up the sand like death itself is at his heels. He doesn't think. Doesn’t reason. The prey-animal instinct lances through him like lightning, overriding even his human self, even the telepathic calm he usually wraps around panic like gauze.
They streak across the cracked wasteland, weaving between sulphur pools and boiling danger. Behind them, the air pulses violet as void-riddled spiderwebs shimmer in the wind, steel-strong and twisted with corruption.
~FIN