Force-claiming is allowed here once a week per character, as is blocking force-claims by the Peak/Lagoon (as a whole) once a week. Rollover is on Sundays.
| PLEASE EXPLAIN TO ME HOW AN ENEMY
could ever look this good |
| Who did this to you? the woman asks, expression frantic as she casts her pale gaze around the forest. Marceline nearly laughs in bitter amusement at the question. If only it were a someone and not a something, that may almost make her pitiful situation easier to deal with. If Rafe or Riesling or Nyimara had been the one to do this to her it would have been less of a blow to her pride than being felled by the mere shifting of the earth beneath her hooves or the current of a too-full river.
Still, she can't help but be touched by her concern. It has been so long since someone has shown her such kindness, that she cannot help but feel a spark of appreciation for the palomino mare. In a strange and uncomfortable way, it is nice to finally be seen again, even if it is only with shock and pity. She continues on, urging Marceline to come with her. Sisters, she says. Immediately the spotted queen thinks of the vulcan mares high upon their Peak, and their so-called sisterhood. A harsh snort makes its way past her pink nostrils. She can't be serious, can she? It isn't that Marceline finds the idea of living high atop the world with like-minded mares loathsome. In fact, it sounds a far cry better than how she is living now, wallowing in muck, mire, and misery. But how in the world could she ever be expected to climb a mountain in the condition she is in? She can barely make it to the Falls and back without collapsing in exhaustion. Another voice interjects as she opens her mouth to speak, this one distinctively male. Marceline's amber gaze slides towards the source, settling upon the svelte figure of a desert-breed stallion as he emerges from the surrounding forest. 'I am no ghost,' the beast inside of her snarls, indignant and infuriated at the implication that she is nothing. The rebuke dances upon the tip of her tongue but she swallows it back like bitter medicine, her harsh words sliding uncomfortably back down her throat. Because she knows, as much as it pains her, that she is nothing. Not anymore. Instead of issuing a rebuttal her mouth curls into a subtle sneer, ivory tail whipping audibly against the dirt-flecked hollow of her hip. "Stranger things have happened." Is her detached response, voice a low rasp from months of disuse. She allows her honeyed gaze to slide over the stallion's figure, trying to puzzle out where she may have seen him before. But no memories immediately jump to mind, and she is left wondering how it is, then, that he knows her. Is he one of Rafe or Nyimara's cronies? An informant of the unnamed Desert King she had never had the time to meet? Marceline does not hide the narrowing of her eyes from him, suspicion etched into each line of his face. Even as she turns to the pale mare, the gears in her mind continue to grind together, attempting to recall any sort of name put to his face. Crimson lips press into a thin line of consternation as she addresses the mare, "Don't concern yourself. No one is coming for me." It might be a blessing if someone - anyone - did, though. Rafe, Riesling, Zevulun, Nyimara, anyone. If only they were to end her suffering. There is no future for her, not with an injury such as this. She is a shell of her former self now, and there is nothing anyone can offer her to refill the void inside her chest. A long sigh escapes from her lungs and she makes to turn away from the pair, wanting nothing more than to limp back to the Falls and hide away from the world. "I have no interest in being rescued, nor in resurrecting memories of the past. But thank you." | ♕
the once-was queen of the hills |