losing hold of the light Posted on July 6, 2022 at 06:06:22 AM by charybdis
but I saw in your eyes I was never alone At the irritated sound Rafe issues, Charybdis curls her lips a little, but it is something instinctive, and there is no spark of humour in her eye. She is no stranger to being misunderstood, and it was a rare few who saw her through all her idiosyncrasies. (It seemed she was cursed to lose them all.) Perhaps, if she had been elsewhere, meeting Rafe on the borders of his Badlands, the white splashed mare might have let it pass unnoticed. But this was her home, and despite how unsteady she’d felt recently, walking in the shadows of the Ridge that had fallen away beneath her, she drew strength from the humid air and the green light filtering from the canopy above.
Her voice is quiet and cool. “It’s what ‘im were to me, when I found ‘im on the shores of my ‘ome. A stark and fleeting t’ing. I did not stop to ask ‘im name while I was defending dat which is mine.” Charybdis watched him with a level gaze. “Nor did it come up when I faced ‘im upon ‘im mountain.” It’s all she says on the matter, and as they move on from the topic of the name and edge closer to the reason for Rafe’s intrusion, Charybdis settles like still water, her expression - her entire demeanor - warming to the overdo stallion’s presence.
But there is much she hides below the surface as she listens to him speak.
At his boldness, a second, truer smile unfurls across her crooked mouth, refreshing and invigorating as a breaking wave. She leans in closer then, only to recede, teasing him in a manner not unlike the way saltwater kisses the shoreline. As they make their way together through the trees, coyness softens the smile, but she says nothing in response. Not with her voice, at any rate. Along the short distance they journey together to fresh water, where Rafe is welcome to slake his thirst if he wishes, something rises within her, spirited and sly. Whether his expression is genuine, or Rafe merely speaks the words he thinks she wants to hear (and he hits the mark, swift and true), it matters little. Despite herself, Charybdis cannot help but feel a little charmed by him, and for the briefest of moments, she is not hidden, and amidst the turbulence of her, if he is looking, Rafe might catch a glimpse of Charybdis as she would have been - bright and beautiful, free of the burdens she’d been carrying all her life.
But his words rang with a truth that went deeper than Rafe would ever know. Looks like hope, and tastes only of disappointment. This was why she was alone. A pretty little deception. And why the ones who’d left, or had been lost to her, would never come back.
She shifts subtly in an attempt to shake off the sadness that came in the wake of her pleasant surprise. The ocean looks like a lie.
The words sting as they sink in, like salt in open wounds.
“You should know, ‘im not de type to talk,” she begins casually, allowing her gaze to roam across the familiar green undergrowth that crowded in on them from all sides. Even if ‘e want to. Then she tilts her head, dips her chin close to her chest as she studies him from the corner of her good eye, as though she’s guarding a secret. “But oh, you already know dis. Or, at least, you t’ink you know.” Charybdis knows she’s grasping for truths beyond her ken, but she believes in things unseen, and the gleam in her eye is far from uncertain. Rafe has presented her with a puzzle, and she is all too keen to fit the pieces together to form a picture she desires to see.
“Tell me, what is ‘er name? De one Fell took from you?” Because, for all her strangeness, Charybdis is not blind to the desires of men, and the things that drive them. “‘im did not take my girl from me.” There is no sharp sting accompanying these words, for though she could manifest conceit at this moment, she is far more interested in giving Rafe a clearer understanding of her, and to see the lengths to which he was willing to go to get what he wanted. “I made ‘im bleed. Stalked into ‘im ‘ome, climbed ‘im mountain, waited for ‘im, and warned ‘im anew. ” The mare, with her muddied blood-red mantle, turns to face him front on. “And you what? You fight ‘im and you fail, and you come to me now, wit’ your solution of diplomacy?”
There is a cutting edge to her grin now, but she is not interested in baring her teeth. Not yet.
A feverish energy takes hold of her, and Charybdis gives herself over to the current, willing to go wherever it deigns to take her. She leans toward Rafe, but does not yet move. “You want me to go to ‘im ‘ome again, promise ‘im somet’ing? ‘Cause between ‘im and you dere will be no peacemaking, I t’ink.” As her words hang in the air, Charybdis watches and waits, and just when Rafe goes to speak, she slinks toward him, soft and sultry. There was nothing Rafe would be willing to give, she surmised, that would satisfy Fell and bring about a truce between them. But Charybdis? “ ‘Maybe I do somet’ing for you, and you do somet’ing for me.’ ” And then, slippery as an eel, she extracts herself from where she’d curled around him, husky laughter tumbling from ‘tween her parted lips. “Tell me, Rafe of de Badlands, is dat diplomatic enough for you? Am I good enough to do your bidding? Is dis all you want of me?”
It is, Charybdis thinks.
Rafe had presented a problem that he perceived tied them together. And he would not be here voicing his suggestions, seeking her out, if he didn’t want something like this from her. What was it he’d called her? The right woman. As she takes her place before him again, drawing herself up to her full height (standing nearly level with him), and fixing him with a pointed, playful stare, the smile widens across her guileful lips, and her eyes glitter darkly in the shadows of her jungle home. “To carry dis message for you, it will exact a cost. All dat remains to be seen is if you will be prepared to deliver.”