empty offerings

Isla

Isla finds herself in Mourn quite a lot these days. She doesn't know why exactly, given that she's pretty sure that paying respects to her kind isn't really a thing any more. Perhaps it's just the peace and quiet she seeks. Regardless, here she is again today, placing a few carefully cut flowers into an empty vase. One for Wessex, one for Nate, one for Varus. There are others, of course - there are always others - but Isla wouldn't be able to carry all those flowers.

Letting out a long sigh - habit, by now, pretending to breathe even if she doesn't need it - the Remedy steps back and clasps her hands at her waist, her head bowing. She doesn't know why she prays - she knows there is no Voice to answer - but gods, wherever her friends and loved ones are now, she hopes it's somewhere peaceful.

I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard

Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy

The hallowed silence is broken suddenly by the sound of hoofbeats, the laboured breathing of a large animal, a shout of "Gods damnit!", and finally the thhwwwpt! of a lasso being thrown.

Should the Remedy look up, she'll see a rather gangly unicorn colt dramatically flailing about, stomping on offerings and graves alike. Ears pinned and nostrils flared, it's all piss and youthful vinegar that has nowhere to go now thanks to the lasso around its neck. Following the line of the rope back, Isla will see a buckskin unicorn mare with a comfortable saddle on her back and a man in mid-dismount.

Running a gloved hand down the rope which is attached to the mare's saddle, the man (now having fully dismounted), turns a dusty blue-denim stare in Isla's direction as he nods apologetically. "Ma'am." Pushing up the lip of his hat with a single finger, he turns to look at the mare behind him, pausing for a moment, before looking back at the colt. "Y'either cut the shit or I'll hobble you. S'your choice."

After a moment, the colt stills. 'Right choice.' The man says with a chuckle as he loosens off the rope around its neck, before glancing towards Isla. "Apologies. They don't care much about those who are buried here."

Isla

Pebble blues snap up at the sound of a commotion nearby, and despite herself, Isla's fingers are tipped with scalpel sharp talons even as she straightens from the vase. But it isn't some Ascended-hunter come to collect her head (and there had been a few of those in the immediate aftermath of the war, so it's not as strange an assumption as one might think) - no, it's... a cowboy? And a couple of unicorns.

Absently smoothing out her shirt (the claws recede back into the pads of her fingertips with the gesture), Isla offers a listless sort of smile to the stranger, shaking her head. "It's alright," she says. "I was just passing through. I didn't realise the unicorns came out this close to Mourn, though..."

Even as she speaks her gaze moves to the mare, and her smile becomes more genuine, if not a great deal more sad. "She's beautiful," she remarks of the creature.

I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard

Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy

"Ain't supposed to." Morgen says by way of agreement as he pats the colt's wither. "This'un's got quite the independent streak though. Reckon he thought he could slip away without my noticin'." The way Morgen's lips curl into a lopsided smile suggests strongly that he doesn't fault the youngster for trying.

Loosening off the rope completely, the man glances over his shoulder to where the mare patiently stands. Her ears have perked forward at the compliment, and it's with quietly intelligent eyes that she watches Isla. "Sure is, and she fuckin' knows it too." Starting slightly, Morgen offers Isla a rather sheepish smile. "Apologies for my language."

Placing the tips of his glove between his teeth, Morgen tugs it off before extending a calloused and rough hand in the Remedy's direction. "Name's Morgen Walker." He says around the leather.

Isla

"Oh? Well I'm sure this won't be the last time he has you chasing him across King's End, if that's the case." Isla says, a little bit of mischief slipping into her expression despite herself. She turns more fully towards the stranger, though her eyes are still all for the mare.

"Mm? Oh, there is no need to apologise - I assure you I've heard far worse." Her attention finally returns to him fully as his hand stretches out between them; taking it in her own, Isla's handshake is still firm, her hands still soft, but there's somehow still less life to it. Not that Morgen will know any different.

"Isla Lockwood," she introduces. "Where are you headed? I just came through the Feverlands - it's quite dry this time of year, if you go that route." Obviously she thinks he's just passing through.

I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard

Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy

Morgen chuckles his agreement. "Yep, think you might be right about that." As if knowing the conversation is about him, the colt gives an impatient toss of his head, to which the mare pins her ears in response. The youngster falls still.

"I don't doubt it, but I was raised not to cuss in front of a lady. It's a good thing my momma isn't buried here or she'd be risin' right up outta the ground to give me a slap." That wasn't to say other things wouldn't rise out of the ground here as they often did, it's just none would be Morgen Walker's mother.

"Oh? Wouldn't know. I try to avoid it. The herd gets awful marsh-rot from places like that." He explains with a small shrug as he moves back towards the mare, tugging the colt along behind. "We'll probably just head back to camp. The herd's still got a good amount of grass left to eat before the snow flies." Pausing that he might communicate something silently to the mare, Morgen slips the rope from the colt's neck before turning back to Isla.

"Got some rabbit stew that's been simmerin' all afternoon, and some wine I think, if you're so inclined."

Isla

"Your mother sounded like a formidable woman," Isla says with a small smile, glancing to the colt and the mare and letting her hands rest in her coat pockets. "And you are too kind, but there's no need to treat me like a lady on my account. I find the best conversations are usually unladylike." Not that she's had many lately.

"The herd?" she queries, tilting her head and glancing over him again with fresh eyes, as if suddenly noticing all the signs that she'd missed before. "A herd of unicorns, you mean?" Raising her eyebrows, the prospect seems so fresh and different (and yet ordinary) that she can't help but find it somewhat quaint.

As for the stew, she declines with a polite shake of her head. "I have already eaten, but thank you for the offer. I would be glad of the company though, if I could come and see your camp? I didn't know anyone lived out here."

I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard

Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy

"And then some." Morgen agrees instantly, and the boyish smile that accompanies the words is made all the more golden for the memories of his mother that flash behind his eyes. "Won't argue with you on that." And he wouldn't, but that didn't mean he wouldn't make every attempt to curb his language at least a little, not that he'd be too successful at it.

'A'yep.' The man tilts his head back down towards the valley. " 'Bout 30 of 'em in the herd right now, though come spring it'll nearly double with all the foals." Morgen explains as he slides his glove back on and places two fingers under the mare's cinch. As Isla accepts his offer, or part of it anyways, he loosens it off. His momma would slap him for riding while making someone else walk, and Sweets wasn't the type to let anyone else on her back.

"If you're worried about me being a shit cook...you're probably right to." Morgen says, assuming that's the reason Isla has declined the food. The mare picks her own path, followed by the colt, leaving Isla and Morgen to follow in their wake. "Yeah, not many live out here. A few more now that there's that Refuge thing."

Isla

"Thirty?" She can't help but sound impressed at that, smiling after the mare and colt who make their way on ahead, leaving her to stroll with the not-so-stranger. "I thought unicorns were quite rare out here. How long have you been doing this?" Her hands remain in her pockets, guarding against the crisp winds that ripple through the area at this time of year. Isla doesn't feel it of course, but she's become more adept than ever at pantomiming humanity.

Her lips part at his candid remarks, a soft flush of silver on her cheeks as she turns her head to look away. "I am sure your cooking is fine," she says, making it sound like an apology. "Believe me when I say it's not you, it's me." Clearing her throat, she nods and seizes the opportunity to change the subject.

"Is it just you out here though, with the herd? Other than all of the visitors."

I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard

Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy

"Wouldn't say rare. They're around if you know where to look." Morgen replies. Turning up the sheep-skin lined collar of his jacket against the breeze, he nestles his hat down securely onto his head as they make their way. Though he keeps his hands at his sides, he makes sure to stay at a comfortable distance from Isla to avoid that awkward accidentally touching-someone-hand-swing-thing. "My whole life, I guess, maybe even a bit before. It's what my Momma did, even with me in her belly. My Da was a trapper and trader. They weren't never together, I was just an accident, but it worked out for them to have an extra pair of hands around." Not everything had to be idyllic after all, and Morgen sounded perfectly okay with his parent's non-romance.

Just how much the cowboy notices is unclear, because as Isla flushes and changes the subject, he follows her lead without any hesitation at all. "Yes ma'am." Ahead, the unicorn snorts and the colt hustles along. "Ain't a life most want to lead. It can be lonely and the work ain't the easiest. Plus, not everyone gets along with the unicorns even though they like to think they do."

Isla

"That's true enough, I suppose. I imagine not many people know where to look. What do you do with the herd?" It isn't like unicorns are used commonly for meat or hide or milk - and the thought sort of flips her stomach in a way Isla doesn't expect. She doesn't really know what to say to his explanation, because sorry doesn't really seem necessary given his tone, but it still isn't a particularly happy scene that he paints.

"I suppose loneliness is subjective. You can be alone without being lonely, right?" He doesn't seem lonely, at least. Catching herself going way too deep for a first conversation with a stranger, Isla shakes that off and glances back across at him. "They're my favourite," she confesses, of the unicorns. "I like that they're a little bit enigmatic." Mercurial, almost.

And, you know. It helps, having been one.

I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard

Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy

"Keep 'em healthy, really. Move 'em around, water 'em, doctor 'em when they need it. Once upon a time they could do all that on their own, but once we started infringing on their spaces and pushin' 'em out, it got harder for 'em. Ones that seem to have an aptitude for people I sell come springtime. And the rest.." A rather mischievous light sparks in the cowboy's denim stare for a moment as he shrugs.

Glancing over his shoulder, Morgen's lower lip pushes out for a moment as he considers what Isla has just said. Whether he's a bit slow, or if he's just really chewing on her words is something the ascended will just have to decide for herself. "That sounds about right." He agrees, perhaps a touch vaguely.

"They certainly are that, and nothin' much like the way they're portrayed in the books. Oh sure sometimes they'll come over if you're sittin' particularly quiet and whatnot, but that nonsense about virgins and purity?" Morgen laughs loudly enough that the colt gives a little buck of surprise. It isn't a judgemental laugh though, more of a "oh, what will they come up with next" one, that he follows up with an apologetic smile just in case Isla had been under that sort of assumption about them.

Isla

Isla has let her pebble blues move back to the colt and the mare as they talk, finding something calming about the simplicity of all of this; travelling through the rolling landscape, ushering a mischievous animal back to safety. It's the sort of life that whispers sweet nothings to the tempest of her thoughts, promising a quiet mind for the first time in longer than she can remember.

"With the Refuge, I imagine they are a little easier to sell than before," she remarks; with people so close by, she means. His bark of laughter earns a grin from Isla that risks a flash of fangs, and her head turns slightly away from him to disguise it. "The books really got it all wrong," she agrees. "I was - I mean, the unicorn I knew certainly had a mind of her own. And it wasn't virginal or pure."

I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard

Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy

"Yep. We'll see what happens now that everything is supposedly all spread out." Clearly Morgen hasn't travelled enough to know quite what the continent now looks like post-war, but he doesn't have his head in the sand about it either. 'King's End mostly stayed together, which is all I really care about."

Snickering as if Isla had made a filthy joke, Morgen grins and nods. "I find most of 'em actually like a bit of spirit. They're herd animals so they like to know where you fit into things, and people who are too submissive don't convey much confidence to 'em." It's probably a coincidence, but ahead, the mare snorts loudly and snaps her tail.

As the pair crest the last of the Mourn's mounds, the pathway winds down towards a rather lovely clearing within which Isla can likely easily make out thirty or so vaguely-horse-shaped creatures. Tilting his head slightly to the side at precisely the same moment the mare did the same, Morgen gives a nod. "Yeah sure, way you go." So saying, the mare and colt amble off at an easy canter to rejoin the herd. "Couldn't do it without her." He mumbles affectionately, before glancing over at Isla to explain. "We're bonded." Bonded, instead of my companion. "Most days she keeps 'em in line far more than I do. I think she tolerates me cause of my thumbs and tongue." Realizing how incredibly inappropriate that might sound, Morgen's cheeks grow maroon as he fumbles to explain.

'Y'know, to talk and open things with my hands and whatnot."